


We'll Take Manhattan

by lachatblanche



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fusion, Alternate Universe - Historical, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-08-12
Updated: 2012-08-12
Packaged: 2017-11-11 23:55:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 67,745
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/484315
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lachatblanche/pseuds/lachatblanche
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It is 1962, and Pendragon Publishing is looking at how to expand the readership of its fashion magazine '<em>Camelot</em>'. The decision to bring in newer, younger photographers leads to Arthur Pendragon, the rebellious, innovative heir to the Pendragon empire being admitted back into the fold for one trial photoshoot, but only if he agrees to do things their way. Unfortunately for them, when Arthur claps eyes on Merlin - clumsy, nervous, doesnt-know-how-to-hold-still Merlin - he realises that he has found his Muse and that he will have to fight to keep him, even if it means pushing further than he has ever gone before. </p>
<p>In other words, this will be very much based on the story of photographer David Bailey and model Jean Shrimpton from the BBC's '<em>We'll Take Manhattan</em>'.</p>
            </blockquote>





	We'll Take Manhattan

Arthur’s very first memory was of a camera.

Well, that wasn’t quite true. Arthur’s very first memory was of his mother, all laughs and angelic smiles, holding out a large contraption that Arthur would later come to recognise as a camera. She held it above him and cooed at him as she took his picture. Arthur wouldn’t remember much about his mother, but that one memory of his encapsulated everything that he needed to know of her: that his mother, Igraine Pendragon – happy, beautiful, joyful and light-hearted Igraine, blonde of hair and fair of face – had loved him and had done so with the entirety of her whole, generous heart.

It also told him that she loved photography.

Not that that memory was his sole clue to her passion. As a child, Arthur had been resident to a house that was filled to the brim with pictures – there wasn’t a single wall that wasn’t covered in sunsets, sunrises, bemused-looking animals and startled poses of people caught unaware by Igraine’s stealthy attacks with her camera. Of course, the parlour and the other public rooms had more sedate, traditional pictures upon their walls – the Pendragon family all together, each of them wearing stiff poses and even stiffer smiles as they posed for the camera. 

Even as a child, Arthur had hated those photographs – not just because he had to hold still while they were being taken, but also because for some reason the pictures frightened him. His father looked ever so stern when sat, posed like that in the centre, and his mother – his beautiful, smiling mother looked so solemn, so still! Arthur would always turn away from the pictures after no more than a moment of looking at them and bury his head in his mother’s neck or lap. Igraine would then let out a soft little laugh, kiss him on his brow and tell him not to worry, immediately catching him up and carrying him over to another room to look at _her_ pictures. 

Arthur’s absolute favourite was the one that Igraine had taken of his father, who appeared to be holding some sort of staring competition – _eye check-up_ , an indignant Uther always protested – with their Great Dane, a large, sorrowful-looking dog whom Igraine had playfully named ‘Hamlet’.

Their house had been a happy one then. Igraine’s fascination with cameras had not been quite proper for the wife of a highly respected magazine mogul, but Uther had loved her fiercely and therefore anything Igraine wanted was hers to have if Uther could manage to get it for her. That of course, included her very own camera and studio, although Igraine very rarely used the latter, preferring to take pictures of people in action, when they least expected it. She liked her pictures to look alive, she would often tell a young Arthur, who would sit at her feet and look on in curiosity as she snapped picture after picture.

Arthur would remember that, later, and agree. 

Being the attractive family of a wealthy and respected publisher, the wife of whom brought royal blood to the marriage, brought with it several duties of sorts. Among them was the seasonal photographs to be taken of the family in the latest fashions, posed according to the photographer’s desire, which were then printed in Pendragon Publishing’s most popular fashion magazine, _Camelot_. As much as Igraine – not to mention, Arthur – hated these photo-shoots, their attendance was expected of them, as was their compliance. 

Uther, being both an important man and the head of Pendragon Publishing, was excused – or rather, he excused himself – from the proceedings, leaving Arthur and Igraine to fend for themselves in the studio. Igraine, knowing how much this meant to her husband, agreed quietly and would often use the photo-shoots as an opportunity to learn more about photography, often conversing at length with the quiet, gentle photographer about angles, exposures and lighting and other such matters that he was well-versed in. 

Arthur, on the other hand, _hated_ having to go to the studio and indeed, had been known to kick up tantrums of unimaginable proportions in protest. He _hated_ being dressed up like a doll and having to hold his arms out in awkward positions for what seemed to be _hours_ at a time. He hated having to sit in a room full of upper-class mothers and their stuck-up children while they preened and pouted around him. He hated it _all_. It was only his mother’s constant presence and her soft, soothing tones that convinced him to sit at all still for the pictures. 

These family photographs became even more desirable for _Camelot_ when, sometime after Arthur’s fourth birthday, Uther and Igraine brought home a girl called Morgana, a beautiful child of five – ‘almost six’, she declared when asked – that they introduced to Arthur as his new sister. Arthur, while initially suspicious – one of his friend’s had obtained a sister, once and he was _sure_ that she had been much littler than Morgana was – soon came to like his new-found sibling after he found that she too disliked their fellow studio inhabitants and their shrill-voiced mamas that were not at _all_ like his own, smiling mother. 

However, it must be said that Morgana, very much unlike Arthur, took to being photographed like a duck to water. Everyone fell about in raptures over how _graceful_ her arm placement was and how _sharply_ she angled her neck, or some such nonsense that honestly baffled Arthur, and made him feel ever so slightly inept. It was only when Igraine reached for his hand and sent him a soft, comforting smile, showing that she felt the same as he did, that Arthur felt reassured that she wasn’t disappointed in him for not being as elegant or proficient as Morgana. However, as these pictures were only called for approximately once per season, Arthur didn’t pay his discomfort too much attention and did his duty to make his parents happy, even if he himself couldn’t see the point of any of it.

Things might have continued in this way, if it weren’t for the quirks of fate. Some time after Morgana had joined the Pendragon family, they all decided to make an excursion into the city to enjoy a day out together. Arthur and Morgana were particularly excited about it, having just come out from a relatively nasty bout of flu that had laid them both up for a few weeks. They cheerily set out in a pretty little Triumph Roadster, the latest automobile to have taken Uther’s fancy. Igraine, of course, had her trusty camera at hand, ready to snap evidence of their frolicking to put up on the walls of her boudoir, which had been looking particularly bare of late.

The day started out wonderfully. The sun was out and there wasn’t a cloud to be seen in the sky. They went to shops and parks and museums, and then they stopped for ice cream – even Uther, who had never had a particularly sweet tooth, bowed down to the family clamour and asked for a pistachio flavoured creation that he seemed to quite enjoy. Igraine naturally decided that evidence was necessary and laughingly began to snap photographs of the three of them enjoying their ice creams. 

‘This way Uther!’ she laughed, stepping back, her pale blue dress floating around her. ‘No, don’t stop eating, I want to _see_! Morgana, stop trying to give that dog your cone, I don’t think it would be very good for it. Arthur, love, don’t drop your-’

And then there was a horrible noise, the shriek of the tyres of a motorcar frantically trying to stop, followed by the colossal thud of an impact, a sound that would stay with Arthur forever. Through the confusion and uproar and Morgana’s screams and Uther’s pale, shaking frame he could only remember the one thought going through his head through it all, his eyes fixed on the floor where they had been throughout the entire incident.

He’d dropped his ice cream.

  
*****   


And, of course, from there on in, things changed. Uther stopped smiling. Not at first – in the beginning he stayed with his children and tried to keep their spirits up as much as possible. But with each day that passed, with each hour alone without Igraine, his smiles faded away. He slowly stopped trying to cheer up Arthur and Morgana, then he stopped comforting them, and, eventually, he stopped spending very much time with them at all. His attention, it seemed, became consumed by his work, and he threw his whole being into furthering the success of Pendragon Publishing and its star publication, _Camelot_.

Morgana dealt with this quite placidly. Having lost her own parents shortly before, she understood what was happening and resigned herself to going through it again. This time, though, she had a brother and – regardless of the little time he spent with them – a father, so she wasn’t as adrift as she had been before, and for that she was grateful.

Arthur, on the other hand, suffered. He couldn’t quite understand what was going on. He knew that his mother had had an accident. He knew that her camera had been smashed to pieces – that much he hadn’t been shielded from on that heavy, heavy day. He even knew, to some extent, that his mother was never coming back. What he did _not_ understand, however, was why no one wanted to be with him. For a child as doted on and loved as he had been – Igraine could seldom bear being parted from him for even a day, and even Uther had cherished and cosseted him in his own gruff way – he did not understand why no one wanted to play with him anymore, why no one cuddled him and told him that he was ‘her little prince’ as his mother had used to, or why his father could hardly look at him nowadays. From being loved and adored to being close on ignored – it was hard for him to take. It was now that he really began to appreciate Morgana’s presence in his life – if it weren’t for her then he would have truly felt alone in the world. 

Things, sadly, didn’t get any better. Uther remained as cold and distant as ever and Arthur and Morgana’s care was left to the hands of several nannies and governesses. Capable and sure as these hands were, they were not those of a warm, loving parent and both children felt the difference. 

One time, Arthur went out for a walk with one of his minders, only to return home a few hours later to find that the walls had all been stripped bare. He walked into the house in a daze, the missing frames leaping out at him like huge neon signs on the wall, the spaces an unfriendly, glaring white. As he walked through the house, through every single room, he noticed with a growing horror that _all_ the photographs – all of _his mother’s_ photographs – had vanished without a trace, leaving just the cold, bare walls behind. 

The only pictures that remained were the professional family photos, the majority of them taken to grace the pages of _Camelot_. There the inhabitants of the photographs stared out, cold and still and stern. Moulded and placed like dolls at a child’s tea party, their eyes glazed and looking deliberately away from the camera.

Arthur’s eyes moved to scan over one of the images of his mother, her arms braced at angles above Morgana’s head, her face gazing off somewhere in the distance. That was nothing like how she had been. The photograph rendered her a dull waxwork instead of living, breathing flesh. _Lifeless_ , Arthur thought, shuddering. _Dead_.

He pulled back from the wall and lowered his head. 

Neither Arthur nor his father mentioned the missing pictures when Uther came home from work that evening. Morgana, on the other hand, ranted and raved and stamped her foot in anger. It was a while before she let go of the fact that the pictures had mysteriously disappeared. Arthur stared at her, stunned by the ferocity of her outburst.

Morgana’s tantrums and angry tears didn’t stop either. For weeks she vented her anger about the photographs, a tactic that in the past had got her what she wanted with no need for repeat performances. This time, however, Uther barely looked in her direction. The maids and nannies seemed to have been secretly instructed to ignore anything to do with the missing pictures, and so she gained no support from that quarter either. Even Arthur had only stared at her in surprised confusion the first time she lost her temper and had thereafter skulked around her, scowling with a small uncertain pucker in the middle of his forehead every time Morgana had an outburst.

She learned soon enough, though. Gradually, her rants began to diminish, although she still occasionally displayed bouts of frustration and resentment. Nevertheless, these feelings of resentment were deeply buried and she never truly recognised them, her affection for Arthur and Uther – particularly for Arthur, their blossoming relationship being in direct contrast to Uther’s distance – overcoming any residual bitterness. It was only years later that Arthur found out that Igraine’s photographs had held a great deal of importance to Morgana – looking at them had been a way for her to understand that she was truly part of the family.

The household was irrevocably changed. Where Igraine had once ruled a house filled with joy and laughter, now Uther reigned with coldness and repression. 

Both Arthur and Morgana reacted to this in different ways. When Morgana realised that stamping and screaming would win her no favours with Uther, she altered her behaviour to resemble something that _would_ win Uther’s approval. 

Morgana wanted to be accepted, to be loved, and to have a family that would care for her. With Uther’s coldness, she feared for her place in the family and so did all she could to be the ideal daughter whenever Uther was around. 

Uther was secretly grateful for it; Morgana had always been a rather wild and unpredictable child, and he had often worried, while alone, that, feeling stifled or resentful, that she might take to acting out. When she didn’t he was greatly reassured, and he ended up choosing to spend more time with her – or at least, spending more time _in the room_ with her.

Arthur, on the other hand, was a different matter. He was even younger than Morgana and his confusion was greater, as were his fears which at the time he could not put into words. Uther’s coldness left Arthur feeling increasingly unsure of himself and, isolated from all but Morgana, he began to feel eaten away by loneliness. He only made one attempt to win over Uther.

One day Arthur asked his father to come with him and help him play with his train set, which, in those brighter halcyon days, was something that Uther had thoroughly enjoyed doing. Now though, the mere inquiry was enough to raise a stern, dark eyebrow and a quick, sharp refusal. Thoroughly rebuffed, hurt and confused, Arthur left the room from which he had only five minutes before steeled himself to enter and never again attempted to seek out his father again. His first overture was sadly his last, Uther’s refusal unknowingly echoing down the years and marking a turning point in Arthur’s life.

Arthur changed after that. Although he never stopped wanting to make his father proud – something that he would angrily and violently protest as an adult – his thoughts and feelings turned inwards and he instead sought to make the mother in his memory proud. 

Now, Arthur had always been fascinated by the concept of photography, an interest that Igraine had nurtured and cultivated, having seen in Arthur a kindred spirit to her own. However, it was his mother’s death that now spurred Arthur into becoming more curious about the art. 

When he and Morgana arrived at one of the photography studios for Pendragon Publishing that autumn in order to have their pictures taken (all outfits in a respectful, tasteful black), Arthur planned to ask the photographer, who had been his mother’s friend and mentor, to aid him in turn. He was therefore surprised to find that the man (whose name he did not know, in his mind simply calling him the ‘hairy camera man’ due to his long dark hair and beard) was nowhere to be found, even though it was always he who had taken the Pendragon family pictures for _Camelot_. 

When Arthur, in confusion, asked after him, the people around him had exchanged dark glances and then told him that the hairy man had left. Instead, they now had one of the other Pendragon Publishing photographers, a Mr. Gaius, take their pictures. Arthur knew Mr. Gaius, who was a friend of the family and particularly of Arthur’s father, so he was quite sure that he would find someone to help him satiate his curiosity of photography. That didn’t mean that he was not perturbed by the disappearance of the old photographer though, and he could not help but think – even in his childish mind – that he was missing something.

Mr. Gaius agreed to tutor Arthur on the finer points of photography, although Arthur was surprised that it was harder to convince him to do so than he had expected. Gaius had looked troubled upon receiving the request and had looked about him almost uneasily, seeming to dither until Arthur had turned the full force of his childish hope and innocence on him, the blue eyes he had inherited from Igraine widening in plea. With a sigh, Gaius had agreed, but only after making Arthur promise that he would not tell his father of these secret lessons. Arthur, who these days didn’t tell his father _any_ thing, readily agreed, and this began his formal – or rather, informal – tutoring on the subject of photography at the rip old age of seven. 

Things might have ended there, and Arthur might have eventually grown bored with the lessons and moved on, were it not for the unexpected surprise he received at Christmas. It was the first Christmas that the family was to spend together without Igraine, and although no one’s heart was truly in it, they had all made an effort to be cheery and as excited as they could manage. Even Uther took a few days off work in order to spend time with his children, although for anyone who looked it was easy to see that in whatever room he was in, he was never situated far away from the alcohol cabinet.

Arthur and Morgana had always been fond of presents. Morgana, in particular, adored receiving presents and packages of any form, and Christmas had always been particularly high on her list of favourite days of the year. This year, with Igraine gone, it wasn’t the same. There were presents under the tree, of course – Uther wasn’t an ogre, after all, and he had gone all out in procuring people who would do everything to make the Christmas a pleasant one for the children, from picking out a large and beautiful tree, to decorating it, to buying presents suitable for a young girl and boy. 

Neither Arthur nor Morgana dared mention that picking out a Christmas tree had always been a family tradition, as had the trimming and decorating afterwards. The handcrafted ornaments that Igraine and the children had painstakingly made a few years ago had been dismissed in place of expensive and colourful baubles that glistened attractively but coldly from the tree. Arthur and Morgana felt no inclination to sit down under the tree and run their fingers over the tiny ornaments as they had done in previous years. Even the presents, which in previous years had been messily wrapped by each family member with glitter and ribbons and cheerful, patterned wrapping paper, were now neatly and tidily packaged and placed under the tree with tasteful, professionally-wrapped paper which somehow greatly reduced the attractiveness of the scene to the children’s eyes, even if overall picture was otherwise aesthetically pleasing. It just seemed to lack … magic.

Such was the picture when Arthur stepped into the room and saw in the midst of the neatly wrapped presents with their elegant wrappings a present with bright teddy bear patterned wrapping paper sitting there, its presence glaringly obvious to all who entered the room. Arthur just stood there and stared at it, his mouth suddenly oddly dry at the sight. 

Morgana, entering the room soon after him, looked strangely at him but her eyes were almost immediately drawn by the present under the tree as well. 

‘Oh!’ she exclaimed, her eyes growing round and wide. ‘What _is_ it?’ She excitedly approached the tree but stopped centimetres away from its edge. ‘Oh,’ she said disappointedly when she leaned over to take a closer look. ‘It’s for _you_.’ The pout was obvious in her voice. Then she suddenly lit up. ‘Oh _look_! There’s one for me too!’ she said gleefully, dancing over to the other side of the tree and delicately plucking a small, prettily wrapped gift from the rest of the pile. ‘I wonder what it is!’

Arthur didn’t move even as Morgana pawed and pressed at her present. He made no move to go to his own. He just stood there stiffly while Morgana scrutinised her package and, when she had finally grown tired of her guessing games, silently moved away and then proceeded to ignore – or at least, pretend to ignore – the present as best as she could.

The next morning dawned bright and early and when Arthur peeked out of the windows of his bedroom, he discovered that the world was covered over with a fresh blanket of pure white snow. He stood there for a moment, entranced by the pristine whiteness of the previously familiar grounds and he felt his heart surge with what was perhaps the first real feeling of Christmas cheer that he had had that year. 

He cautiously made his way downstairs, hovering somewhat awkwardly at the banister, only to be caught off guard when a happy, laughing Morgana tore in, her long dark hair flying over her shoulder.

‘Merry Christmas!’ she cried, flinging her arms around Arthur. 

Arthur returned the hug with a firm one of his own. If, this year, their embrace lasted slightly longer than it had on previous years, then only they were to know.

The morning was a happier one than any that they had spent since Igraine’s death. Even Uther smiled and submitted to the kisses and embraces of his children with extraordinary grace, for a moment once more the man he had been all those months ago.

Things proceeded that way through breakfast. Then Arthur and Morgana hovered around the breakfast table until Uther put down his newspaper with a sigh.

‘I suppose it’s time to open the presents, then?’ he asked, sounding resigned but with a hint of warmth in his eyes. It was a familiar charade, one that the family indulged in every Christmas, with Igraine and Uther sending the children tolerant looks while they deliberately drew out their breakfast conversation. It appeared that Uther was determined to keep things as normal as possible for Arthur and Morgana, even though it must have hurt him to do so. Certainly, Uther’s taste for it quickly disappeared and in later years, the present opening was preceded with a quiet ‘presents now?’ from Uther instead of playful words and a smile. But then again, by then Arthur and Morgana had learned to stop hovering around the breakfast table and instead wait stoically for Uther to remember them, so in a way the solemnising of the Pendragon family Christmas morning cannot truly be said to have been anyone’s fault.

This year, though, Arthur, Morgana and Uther took their places around the Christmas tree with eager smiles and shining eyes before, with one glance at each other, they all reached forward into the pile of presents under the tree, scrutinising the labels and then passing them on to the person they were addressed to. By the end of it, they each had a neat little pile by their feet, ready to be opened.

While Arthur had a really quite respectable number of presents at his feet, he had eyes for only one of them. He did not move to open it, though, and instead started on his other presents. A soft cry from Morgana and a quick glance showed that his sister had not shared his patience, and had ripped open her present to reveal a small box which contained a delicate, silver filigree pendant that Arthur realised with a painful clench used to belong to his mother. He looked away as Uther took the pendant from Morgana’s hands and gently placed it around her neck, murmuring something to her all the while. Swallowing, Arthur continued to go through his own presents, one by one, till at last he reached the one he had been saving.

There it sat, between his legs, its cheerful paper calling out for him take a closer look. Cautiously, Arthur reached out and gingerly touched his fingertips to the brightly coloured paper. Just as he was about to pull his fingers away, his father spoke.

‘It’s from your mother,’ he said quietly, his voice ever so slightly rough. 

Arthur looked up at that, even though a part of him had known that already. There was only one person who wrapped presents in quite the way this one was wrapped, and that person was most certainly _not_ Uther. 

‘She bought it quite some time ago,’ Uther continued, his voice going misty. ‘Wrapped it herself, too – wouldn’t let me see what it was. Said it was a surprise.’ He swallowed and glanced away for a moment. ‘It was for your birthday,’ he said after a minute. ‘She had intended to give it to you for your birthday, but … well, in the aftermath of the incident …’ he trailed off, but Arthur didn’t need to be told more. His birthday had come shortly after Igraine’s death, at a time when the whole house was consumed with the deepest grief and mourning. No one had noticed. No one except for Arthur himself, that is. Morgana had remembered a day later, and had meekly apologised for forgetting, placing a handmade birthday card into Arthur’s small hand with a subdued smile. Uther hadn’t remembered at all. In fact, Arthur was quite surprised that he had remembered even now.

‘Open it,’ Uther said softly, nodding down at the present. ‘Whatever it was, she was so excited about you having it. I know that much. Open it, Arthur. It’s was bought for you with love.’

Arthur hesitated for a moment. This was it. This was the last present that he would ever receive from his mother. This was the last time he would ever be able to do this. He bit his lip. Then, with a quick glance at Morgana’s eager eyes and at Uther, who also couldn’t seem to contain his curiosity as much as he would have liked, Arthur’s grasp tightened and he began to peel the paper – carefully, oh so carefully – away from the present.

It took him a moment to actually realise what it was. The carefully peeled away paper revealed a box within, and at first Arthur thought it was merely an old box of Igraine’s that she had used to hide the shape of the present contained inside. But as he looked closer, he realised that the box was new and unopened and his heart began to beat faster.

‘Arthur, what _is_ it?’ Morgana demanded, unable to keep mum for long. Uther looked ever so slightly grateful to have not been the one to have asked the question.

Arthur looked down at the box, hidden from their eyes by the swaddling wrappings. Part of him didn’t want to tell them, wanted to keep it secret from their eyes, particularly Uther’s – Arthur may have been young but even his childish instincts told him that Uther would not appreciate the present as much as he did. He gritted his teeth. Then, with a reluctant sigh and trembling fingers, he lifted the box from its nest of wrappings.

It took the both of them a minute to realise what it was, but Morgana was the first to cotton on and her squeal was one of childish awe and delight.

‘ _Arthur_ , it’s a _camera_! She gave you a _camera_ of your very own!’

Arthur found his mouth stretching out into a beaming grin, and a surge of pride shot through his chest, and for a moment he felt impossibly mature and superior. Then his gaze fell on Uther and that split second’s pleasure and happiness immediately vanished.

Uther was gazing upon the box in Arthur’s hands in something akin to terror mixed with revulsion. His face was frozen into a mask of fear, sorrow, anger and so many other emotions that Arthur couldn’t tear his eyes away from his father’s face. Unconsciously, he drew the box closer to his chest, wrapping his small arms firmly and protectively over it. Morgana, also realising that something was amiss, had also quieted down and was looking anxiously between both Arthur and Uther.

‘That’s-’ Uther swallowed and cleared his throat. ‘That’s a camera,’ he stated tonelessly.

Arthur, apprehensively clutching the box closer, nodded.

Uther stared at him for a moment, his eyes drifting from Arthur’s very blond hair down to the box he now clutched in his two small hands.

‘Give it to me,’ he said numbly, reaching a hand out to take the box, his eyes misty and far away. He blinked when, after a minute or two, the box still did not appear in his hands. Frowning, he shook his head and looked down at his son, who was now trying to inconspicuously shuffle away. 

‘Arthur,’ Uther said sharply, narrowing his eyes. He stabbed his hand out once more, demanding. ‘Give me the camera. Now.’

Arthur looked at him suspiciously out from under his fringe.

‘Why?’ he asked bravely, his small voice barely holding back a tremor. ‘What are you going to do with it?’

Uther’s mouth tightened and he looked immensely displeased at being questioned.

‘That,’ he said stiffly. ‘Is none of your concern. Now hand me that camera.’

Arthur’s uncertain expression became suddenly mulish and he stuck his chin out defiantly.

‘No,’ he said, glaring at his father. ‘It’s mine.’

Uther’s expression was turning dangerous, and Morgana, sitting on the other side of him, fidgeted at the sudden tension in the room.

‘Give me the box, Arthur,’ Uther said in as calm a tone as he could manage. ‘There’s no need to fuss – nothing will happen to it.’ 

Arthur might have been inclined to believe his father, but Uther’s eyes told a different story to his words. _The eyes, Arthur,_ Igraine had always told her son. _It’s the eyes that you want to capture. Always look at the eyes, my love – they will tell you everything that you need to know._ Right now they told Arthur that his mother’s present – now his own most important possession – was in danger at the hands of his father.

‘I don’t believe you,’ he mumbled, surprised by his own daring. Then he bravely added, ‘You don’t want me to have it.’

Uther’s jaw tightened at that and he made a visible effort to control himself. 

‘Don’t be ridiculous Arthur,’ he said, but he wouldn’t look at Arthur as he said the words. ‘All I want is to take a look. Now give it here.’

Arthur stood up abruptly, surprising them all. 

‘I-’ he opened his mouth to say something but nothing came out. He stared down out his feet and glared for a moment before finally muttering something about going to his room. Turning, he started to move away from the Christmas tree.

Uther’s voice arrested him. 

‘Arthur,’ Uther’s voice was low and dangerous. ‘Come here _now_.’

Arthur didn’t move.

‘Arthur,’ Uther said, his voice forcedly calm. ‘Come here _at once_ and give me that camera.’

Arthur swallowed, suddenly scared, but he shook his head determinedly.

Behind him, Uther gritted his teeth.

‘Arthur,’ he said tightly. ‘You will come here and give me that camera _immediately_ and you will forget about its existence, or so help me I will-’

‘But Mummy gave it to me!’ Arthur burst out, unable to keep his indignation in any longer. ‘It’s _mine_!’

‘Your mother is _dead_!’ Uther suddenly roared, on his feet before either Arthur or Morgana could react. ‘Your mother is _dead_ and that infernal contraption _sent_ her there! Now you hand it over to me this minute, or so I promise you, Arthur, you will greatly regret-’

‘No!’ Tears stung Arthur’s eyes and suddenly he was the angriest he had ever been in the entirety of his short life. He was upset and confused and frightened – yes, _frightened_ – by the anger and hatred in his father’s eyes. But through all of that he knew that he couldn’t let go of the camera, that it was the one thing connecting him to his mother, that she had _wanted_ him to have it, that he couldn’t imagine it being taken from him. ‘No, it’s _mine_ and if you take this from me then I will never speak to you again, and I will _hate_ you, and Morgana will hate you, and Mummy will hate you too!’

Uther paused at that, suddenly stricken. Slowly, the snarl slid off his face and then he merely looked tired.

‘Very well,’ he said at last. ‘Very well. You win, Arthur.’ He turned away. ‘Now get that cursed thing out of my sight.’

Arthur didn’t move.

‘I said _go_ ,’ Uther growled, whirling back to him. ‘Get it out of this room, and I promise you – if I _ever_ see that thing ever again, then god help me but I will rip it from your hands and _smash_ it to pieces.’

That snapped Arthur out of it. Casting a fearful, hurt glance at his father, Arthur clutched the camera to him before turning and literally running out of the room. 

The moment he left, Uther slumped. He looked tired and haggard, and ever so slightly bewildered, as if he wasn’t at all sure what had just happened. He turned around dazedly, before his eyes fell on Morgana, still sitting quietly under the Christmas tree, torn remnants of ripped packaging littered around her. Her face was blank, the spark that had been there that morning now fully extinguished. Uther couldn’t help the flush of guilt that bubbled up in his stomach, but he couldn’t bring himself to say anything. He and Morgana just stayed there, staring at each other, neither of them knowing what to do.

Finally, Uther rubbed at his eyes and reached out with a hand.

‘Come,’ he said softly. He waited as Morgana tentatively reached out and put her hand in his. ‘Come, Morgana. You, at least, will not betray me.’

And Morgana looked back up at him with large, clear eyes and resolved, in that instant, that no, she would never betray Uther.

That, it seemed, was a privilege reserved solely for Arthur.

  


  
*****  


It was this Christmas incident that, unknown to both, decided the fate of the Pendragon men. While Arthur might otherwise have grown up a reserved and loyal – if not loving – son of Uther’s, this incident forever changed something within Arthur’s mind. From that day on the small flame of resentment that Arthur had harboured in his breast ever since his mother’s death was brought to the fore and fanned every time Uther glared at the camera or failed to mention his mother’s name. Arthur’s affection for his father was drawn away and was now pushed towards the memory of his mother, who in death, had now acquire something of a deified nature in Arthur’s mind. Not only was the camera a way for Arthur to feel closer to his mother, but it was also a way in which to spite Uther, to show that while Uther seemed quite ready to forget Igraine, he, Arthur, wasn’t. But beyond that, beneath the motivations of a sad, neglected little boy who had been left without a mother at far too early an age, beyond all that there was the real Arthur, was the _interest_ and the _talent_ that would become instrumental in making him what he later became: a photographer.

At the moment though, he was just a little boy playing around with a camera. It was only in later years that Arthur would find himself in possession of actual talent and skill, a gift from his mother even more valuable than the camera she had left him.

  


  
*****  


_Ten years later …_

 

Arthur loved being behind the camera. At seventeen, he now knew with a fierce certainty what he had only suspected a decade ago: that photography was his life and his passion and that there was nothing else that he would rather be doing. Nothing was more freeing or invigorating, nothing made him feel so alive and so much at peace with the world.

‘ _Please_ let me pose like that Spanish princess did in the Summer issue, _Arty_! I _promise_ you, I will look _ever_ so pretty in that exact same pose! Daddy, make Arty and the photographer man give me the pose!’

The photographer man in question – Mr. Gaius – threw Arthur a long-suffering look even as Arthur ground his teeth together. As much as he was enjoying his apprenticeship with Mr. Gaius, if there was one thing that he could not stand, it was spoiled, over-entitled debutantes who thought they knew everything about fashion and photography when in reality the extent of their knowledge wouldn’t fill a thimble.

Not to mention the fact that he really, _really_ , hated being called Arty.

‘As I have told you before, Sophia,’ Arthur explained in a forcefully patient voice. ‘The Spanish princess was doing an _exotic_ photo shoot for our _Summer_ issue. You, on the other hand, are doing the _Winter_ issue. Not to mention the fact that Her Royal Highness’s neck was considerably longer and more swan-like than your own, lending to the overall effect of her pose.’

Sophia stared at him and Arthur was forced to mentally re-evaluate the perceived politeness of his words.

‘My neck is _very_ swan-like!’ Sophia snapped, arching her neck in what Arthur was sure was a painful manner. 

Arthur shrugged, completely uninterested. With a sinking heart, he saw Sophia glance at him speculatively before pouting.

‘Oh Arty,’ she sighed, and Arthur winced at the nickname. ‘I so badly want that pose. Isn’t there _anything_ I can do to help you see things my way?’ She fluttered her eyelashes boldly.

Arthur stared. It wasn’t the first time he had been propositioned in the studio, of course, but the propositioning usually occurred during the breaks or after the photo shoot. Not while the shoot was still going on. _Certainly_ not while the girl’s father was still in the room. 

Not that he hadn’t taken advantage of past offers, of course – he _was_ a healthy, red-blooded male, after all. He was certain that his father was well aware of his … _proclivities_ (as Uther had put it during one excruciating unavoidable family dinner wherein he had given Arthur a cold, almost uninterested lecture on the necessity of discretion in a business that relied primarily on reputation). But as Uther turned a mostly blind eye on Arthur’s activities, he saw no real reason to bring his behaviour to an end. Not that Arthur _would_ have stopped even if Uther had asked (or rather, commanded) him. His father may have only had one woman to love for the whole of his existence, but Arthur would be damned if he followed in his father’s footsteps there. He had seen how the loss of a loved one had affected Uther, and he would prefer to avoid becoming a cold, unfeeling bastard, thank you very much. 

Besides, like any other seventeen year old, he _liked_ sex. And he was rather grateful for his father’s lack of interest in this area of his life; Uther might tolerate his sexual escapades with women, but there was no way on earth that he would stand for Arthur’s flings with men. These didn’t happen very often, but even once was one time too many to Uther’s mind. Though, to be fair, once was one time too many to _most_ people’s minds. But Arthur didn’t care – sex was sex, wasn’t it?

Well, he thought, eyeing Sophia with distaste. Sex was sex to _most_ people. But he _knew_ girls like Sophia. They weren’t the chummy sort who would lift their skirts based on nothing more than general _bonhomie_ and the desire to have a good time. No, these were girls who were ambitious and conniving and who never gave anything freely. Arthur knew that if he took Sophia up on her offer, not only would he have to allow her to reproduce that _ridiculous_ pose that would _completely_ out of place for the photo shoot, but that he would never be free of her again. She would think that one roll in the hay between them would mean that she could dictate the terms of the shoot forever after, spoiling whatever little enjoyment that Arthur garnered from a position that already felt too constricting and pretentious for his liking. And, looking at Sophia now, he wouldn’t be surprised if she was one of those girls who thought that his having sex with her meant that they were thereafter engaged and that she could now start planning the wedding. 

Arthur shuddered. Being the very rich, very good-looking son of a famous magazine magnate meant that he’d had more than his fair share of _those_ nutters.

He shifted awkwardly on his feet as Sophia’s propositions became more and more blatant. Looking at her father, the Honourable Lord Aulfric, Arthur was rather alarmed to see that he was looking on with an encouraging, paternal air as his daughter all but lay back and spread her legs in front of his eyes. Swallowing, Arthur backed away. 

‘I would steer clear of her if I were you, Arthur,’ Mr. Gaius murmured as he leaned forward under the pretence of adjusting his camera. ‘Word is that Lord Aulfric is in dire straits. He’s lost his fortune and is looking for a new one in order to continue as he is. And we both know how wealthy your father is – and by extension, you.’

‘Why can’t she go and bother my father instead?’ Arthur grumbled, watching in distaste as Sophia brazenly adjusted her décolletage in full view of the entire crew. ‘I’m sure he’d _love_ to have her fawning all over him.’

Gaius couldn’t resist letting out a snort, which he hastily covered with a cough.

‘I think we both know the answer to that,’ he said, amusement leaking through the obviously false look of disapproval that he had felt necessary to paste on his face. ‘Everyone knew how devoted Uther was – how devoted he still _is_ – to your mother. Besides, I’m sure that young lady Sophia considered you a far more attractive option than your father. And, I’m sure, the small fortune that you inherit from your mother makes you all the more handsome in both her and her father’s eyes.’

Arthur gave a hum of thoughtful consideration. His mother’s personal fortune had been left to him as her son, and as her will hadn’t been amended for some time prior to her death, no provisions of the same manner had been made for Morgana, meaning that Arthur was the sole inheritor, and that he would receive said inheritance upon his eighteenth birthday. He had offered to split it with Morgana of course, but she had just smiled and shaken her head. 

‘It’s yours,’ she had said. ‘Just as that ridiculous title you inherited is. I loved Igraine, Arthur – you know I did. But that’s who she is to me – Igraine, rather than Mother. It’s okay,’ she had added, when she had seen the look on Arthur’s face. ‘I didn’t know her that long, after all. And that doesn’t make you any less my brother, or Uther my father.’

Arthur had huffed out a laugh at that. Yes, Arthur might have Igraine – or at least the memory of her – but Morgana had Uther. More so than Arthur did, at any rate.

Arthur was shaken out of his reverie by a high pitched giggle from Sophia. He could feel a headache coming on.

‘I suppose I should put her out of her misery?’ he said reluctantly, looking at Gaius with a woebegone expression. Gaius merely raised one of his formidable eyebrows in reply and went back to tinkering with his beloved tripod camera.

Sighing, Arthur turned and looked at the scene in front of him and was suddenly filled with overwhelming disappointment. He stood there, frozen, stricken by the realisation. He loved photography, and he loved photographing people, but god only knew that working under his father drove him _insane_. _This_ wasn’t what he wanted. He didn’t _want_ to take pictures of spoilt, pampered little heiresses stuck in frigid poses that no normal human being was ever positioned in at any point in their lives. He didn’t _want_ to take pictures of snooty, miserable families whose only reason for being photographed was the title in front of their names or their friendliness with Uther. He didn’t want to be stuck in a plain, dull old studio with brain-meltingly hot lights glaring down at him and huge, clunky cameras stuck on unwieldy tripods. He wanted _realism_ , he wanted _truth_ , he wanted to look into the eyes of his subject and see a wealth of emotion hidden there in between the colourful flecks of the iris. He wanted _emotion_ , he wanted a god-damned _smile_ , a genuine _smile_ for once in his life. 

And it was pretty damn certain that he was going to get none of that here.

‘On second thoughts,’ he said, speaking aloud. ‘On second thoughts,’ he repeated, reaching up and unbuttoning the uncomfortable waistcoat that he had been forced to wear as part of his uniform. ‘You had better do it yourself, Gaius. I’m sorry – I really, really am, Gaius, but – I quit!’

For a second nobody moved. Then, when Arthur ripped off the waistcoat and threw it to the floor, the floodgates seemed to open. 

‘Arthur-’

‘ _Arty_ , what on earth-’

‘Excuse me, young man, but I hardly think-’

‘Are you sure-’

Arthur turned around, took one look at Sophia and her father and let out a huge breath.

‘Oh yes, I’m sure,’ he said determinedly. He glanced over at Gaius and the rest of the crew, who all looked rather worried. ‘This kind of life just isn’t for me, chaps. I’ve got a plan though. I may have just come up with it less than a minute ago, but it’s still a plan and it’s the best I’ve got. Don’t worry – I’ll tell father myself, no one here will have to.’

There was a concerted breath of relief. 

‘Arthur,’ Gaius said worriedly. ‘Are you sure that you are doing the right thing? That you have thought this through?’

‘Thought it through?’ Arthur smirked. ‘Nope. Doing the right thing? _Definitely._ ’ He became a bit more serious. ‘This isn’t what I want to be doing, Gaius,’ he said solemnly. ‘I mean – it’s been good working with you and the experience was very … educational, but it won’t make me happy. I can’t take pictures like this, not any more. I need to _choose_ my subjects. I can’t work with-’ he flung out a hand and waved it around in Sophia and Aulfric’s direction. ‘With all _that_!’

Sophia let out an outraged squawk and opened her mouth to vent her anger but Arthur just turned away and ignored her.

‘I need to get out of here, Gaius,’ he said seriously. ‘It’s time I found out what I can _really_ do.’

Gaius nodded at that, a look of understanding crossing his face.

‘Very well,’ he said carefully, before reaching out and grasping Arthur by the hand. ‘I know this is something you have always felt, Arthur. I wish you the best of luck, from the bottom of my heart.’ He paused for a moment, before making up his mind and pulling Arthur closer. ‘And if, in a few months or two, you need some help getting started, then please, do give me a call.’ He stopped and grimaced. ‘I have a feeling that your father won’t be feeling too kindly towards me after he learns of your resignation. Not after what happened with your mother …’

‘No, I can’t say he will,’ Arthur agreed, grimacing. He shuffled around awkwardly. ‘Will this be – I mean to say, will you – will you be all right?’ he asked hesitantly. ‘I – I wouldn’t want to do anything to get you into trouble. If it would be too much-’

‘No,’ Gaius immediately shook his head. ‘You are right to strike out on your own, Arthur. And don’t worry about me. I will be fine.’

Arthur held his gaze for a long moment to ensure that Gaius was certain, before giving a firm nod.

‘Right. Okay,’ he said, steeling his resolve. ‘Then I guess that’s it, then. So long chaps,’ he said, turning around to wave at the rest of the crew, who were still staring at him in a mixture of shock, confusion and – a few – even with appreciation. ‘Good luck and all that, but I’m off.’

There was a moment of disorder as those of the crew that he had worked with and sat with and learnt with for the past few years all crowded around him to wish him the best of luck and to exclaim over his sudden decision. Arthur swallowed as he received handshake after handshake, feeling rather sentimental all of a sudden. He had shared a lot with these people. Of course, they had never _truly_ been friends – his status not only as a member of the nobility but – more importantly – as the son of the owner of _Camelot_ magazine, the man that they worked for – had always set them apart. The distinction had lessened somewhat over the years but had never fully disappeared; for all that they became acclimated to his presence, there was still a fine line between Arthur and the rest of them. This line was what had prevented them from asking Arthur to join them for a drink at the end of a long week at work; the line was what would have prevented Arthur from accepting such an invitation even if they had.

Nevertheless, he had learnt a great deal from these men, and he had enjoyed their company very much. They were all genuine, decent people for all that they were not Arthur’s social equals, but then he had always felt uncomfortable with that line of thinking, even if he had only recently allowed himself to truly thwart his father’s rigid ideals in this matter. The fact was, all of the men that he worked with held an interest and fascination in taking pictures and the whole photographic process, and this by itself made them Arthur’s kind of people. Sadly, he had not been able to show it. 

Now, though, things would be different. He would cross that line that had held him back before. He would no longer be employed at his father’s place of business and so he would no longer be bound by his rules. No more would Arthur be alienated by his position; no more would he have to toe the line that his father had drawn out for him; and – his heart sped up at this – no more would he have to sit around photographing dull, vapid little heiresses who knew nothing about photography and had all the photographic charm of a mud-covered rock lying at the bottom of a cave. At night.

Bolstered by these thoughts, Arthur set a smile on his face, turned to wave his former colleagues goodbye, and stepped out of the studio.

His life as a photographic artist was awaiting him.

  


*****  


_Rinnnggggggggg._

‘Merlin!’

_Rriiiinggggggggg._

‘Merlin! The phone!’

_Rrriiiinnnggggggggggg._

‘ _Merlin_!’

‘Got it!’ Merlin yelled, racing down the stairs from his room and diving at the phone.

‘Hello?’ he panted into the receiver, only to be met with a dull dial tone. Sighing, he replaced the telephone receiver into the cradle and ran a hand through his hair in frustration. 

Moments later, his mother came careering into the room, wiping her hands on her apron and looking anxiously into the room. The hopeful look in her eyes dimmed when she saw Merlin’s slumped attitude and the doleful expression on his face.

‘Oh never mind,’ she said softly, coming over to run a hand through Merlin’s wild black hair. ‘I’m sure they will call back.’

‘And if they don’t?’ Merlin asked glumly.

‘Well …’ Hunith shrugged her shoulders. ‘Then that just means that it wasn’t meant to be.’

Merlin snorted.

‘That’s not what da will say,’ he said ruefully. ‘He’ll ask me why I wasn’t standing by the phone, waiting for it to ring.’

His mother grimaced.

‘Well,’ she said after a moment. ‘Perhaps he doesn’t need to _know_ that it rang …’

Merlin cocked his head and looked at his mother. 

‘What if he heard it?’ he asked doubtfully.

But his mother shook her head.

‘No chance,’ Hunith said. ‘He’s on the other side of the farm. There’s no way he could have heard it.’

Merlin brightened at that.

‘Hmm,’ he said thoughtfully. ‘That could actually work!’ Then his expression suddenly fell and he sighed. ‘Or it _would_ have, if it weren’t for-’

‘Mordred,’ Hunith sighed at the same time that Merlin spoke his younger brother’s name.

As if the mere mention of his name had the power to summon him, a small, pale-face peeked over the edge of the banister from at the top of the stairs.

‘Did you want something?’ Mordred asked curiously.

Merlin and Hunith shared a look.

‘Not really,’ Merlin said nonchalantly. ‘What have you been up to?’

‘Not much,’ Mordred shrugged, blinking his wide blue eyes owlishly. ‘Who was that on the phone?’

Both Merlin and Hunith fidgeted. Merlin wished, not for the first time, that he hadn’t picked up this nervous habit from his mother. It _always_ gave them away. It didn’t matter whether their shared secret was a stolen biscuit or a missed phone call, their fidgeting was always their Achilles heel.

‘…No one,’ Merlin lied reluctantly. He gave Mordred a weak smile when his brother tilted his head and looked at him.

‘It wasn’t about the job?’

‘No?’

There was silence.

After a moment, Mordred sighed.

‘Do you want me to tell da that the phone never rang?’ he asked in a quiet voice. 

Both Hunith and Merlin let out twin sighs of relief.

‘Would you?’ Merlin asked gratefully.

‘We just don’t want your da to worry himself, that’s all, dear,’ Hunith said warmly. 

Mordred looked at them for a moment longer before shrugging.

‘Whatever,’ he said, before turning and leaving, presumably going back to his room to do whatever it was that he did in there all day.

Merlin and Hunith relaxed the moment that he was gone.

‘That was lucky,’ Merlin sighed.

Hunith clucked her tongue.

‘He’s your brother, Merlin, you know he would do anything for you.’

‘Yes, but lie to da, though?’

‘Might I remind you that he’s a much better liar than the two of us combined?’

‘It’s your fault,’ Merlin scowled. ‘It’s your genes that I inherited, woman.’

‘Don’t _woman_ me, Merlin _bach_ ,’ Hunith scolded him affectionately. ‘And bear in mind that these genes of mine are the reason that you are so pretty.’

‘ _Mum_!’ Merlin protested. ‘How many times do I have to tell you? _Handsome_ , please, not _pretty_! I’m not a bleeding _girl_!’

‘Your father and I thought that you were going to be a girl at first,’ Hunith reminisced happily. ‘All the women in my family have always had girls, you know. Boys are a rare commodity for us.’

‘So you’re saying that I’m special?’ Merlin asked, beaming winningly at her.

Hunith smirked.

‘I’m saying that you were an utter nuisance,’ she said, shaking her head. ‘Your father had already gone out and got the pink paint and I was already planning all the pretty dresses that I was going to put you in.’

‘So _that_ explains the girly curtains in my room,’ Merlin mused, causing Hunith to take a swat at him.

‘Watch it you, your grandma made those curtains.’

‘And a fine job she did of them too,’ Merlin reassured her, but the mention of ‘job’ seemed to bring him down out of his jovial mood, and he sighed. ‘Will da be terribly disappointed?’ he asked in a small voice.

‘Oh, Merlin,’ Hunith sighed and bent to wrap her arms around him. ‘He’s just worried, that’s all. There isn’t a lot of work going around at the moment, and what with the trouble on the farm and all …’

‘I know,’ Merlin said gloomily. ‘And it’s not like I’m not _trying_. I _am_. I _do_ want to get a job – it’s just that nobody seems to want _me_!’

‘I know, _cariad_ ,’ Hunith squeezed him comfortingly. ‘It’s not your fault. And your father knows that too. Everything will work out, don’t worry.’

‘Perhaps-’ Merlin started hesitantly. ‘Perhaps it’s time that I tried somewhere else? I mean – somewhere … further away?’

Hunith’s brow creased.

‘You mean somewhere outside Carmarthen?’ she asked.

‘Er – actually, I meant … somewhere outside Wales?’

Hunith didn’t respond for a moment. Then she drew back.

‘I’d better go and check on that bread,’ she said, turning and moving towards the kitchen.

‘Ma-’

‘It should be done by now, I think. We’ll have that and some of that lovely fresh butter for tea, don’t you think?’

‘Ma, please-’

Hunith paused at the door.

‘I know, Merlin love,’ she said softly. ‘It’s all right. I will take the matter up with your father. Try not to worry about it. You’re not the only one to have had that thought, after all.’

And with that she walked out of the room, leaving Merlin to ponder what exactly she had meant by that.

  


  
*****  


Dinner that evening was a somewhat awkward affair. Balinor had come back from the farm later than expected and they had all immediately sat down to eat. There had been a distinct lack of conversation at the table, although Balinor seemed not to notice. Hunith and Merlin, on the other hand, kept trading glances, while Mordred just sat there, calmly eating and ignoring them all.

Finally, when they had all finished, Balinor looked up from his plate and fixed Merlin with his piercing gaze, making Merlin shift awkwardly in his seat.

‘Well, lad,’ Balinor said, eyeing him. ‘Do you have any news for me?’

Merlin squirmed.

‘No,’ he said apologetically. ‘Sorry, da.’

Balinor frowned, his bushy eyebrows moving across his forehead to join each other.

‘Didn’t Ewan call?’ he asked, confused.

The other three occupants of the table shared a covert glance.

‘Er- no,’ Merlin said, forcing himself to meet his father’s eyes and hoping against hope that the tips of his ears weren’t going red like they normally did when he lied. 

Balinor frowned and it looked like he was going to say something, but before he could Hunith interrupted.

‘David stopped by this morning,’ she said, cheerfully helping herself to some more peas. ‘He’s going up to London and wanted to know if there was anything that we wanted.’

Balinor frowned.

‘What would we want?’ he snorted. At Hunith’s look, he sighed. ‘Let me rephrase – what would we want from London that we can’t get here?’

‘Fun, maybe?’ Merlin muttered under his breath, then winced as Balinor cuffed him lightly over the head. 

‘Our good Welsh hills not enough for you, eh?’ Balinor raised his eyebrow. ‘The rain too much for your delicate constitution?’

Merlin rolled his eyes.

‘First of all, da,’ he said, setting his fork down and raising his own eyebrow in challenge. ‘ _Ma_ is the one that’s Welsh, not you. Secondly, the rain is too much for _anyone’s_ constitution.’

Balinor snorted at that, but didn’t deny it.

‘He’s right, Balinor,’ Hunith said with a smile. ‘We’re all proper Welsh country folk here. _You’re_ the only city boy here, boyo.’

‘It is my one flaw,’ Balinor said, smiling. His eyes crinkled warmly as he gazed upon his wife.

‘Yes, and my da never forgave you for it,’ Hunith laughed.

‘Your da forgave me the moment _this_ one came along,’ Balinor said, jerking his head to indicate Merlin. ‘And by the time Mordred came along, he was welcoming me with open arms.’

‘What’s so wrong about being a city boy?’ Merlin asked innocently.

Balinor frowned at that.

‘Nothing, really,’ he said thoughtfully. ‘Just – the people are different there, you know. Not as friendly. Not as open.’ Then he smiled and nodded his head at his eldest son. ‘ _You_ probably wouldn’t last a day there, son.’

‘That’s a bit harsh,’ Hunith reproached, as Merlin started loudly objecting to that assessment. ‘Our Merlin’s a lot more resilient than we give him credit for. I think he would do just fine in London.’

Balinor looked rather doubtful at that.

‘I can do it, da!’ Merlin said eagerly. ‘I’d do just fine, I know it.’

Balinor huffed a laugh.

‘Okay, okay,’ he said, smiling. ‘I believe you, boy. If you say you’d do well, then you’d do well. It doesn’t matter anyway, it’s all theoretical.’

Merlin and Hunith stole a look at each other, silently debating over how to introduce the idea to Balinor.

Surprisingly, it was Mordred who got there first.

‘Why?’ he asked.

The others all blinked and turned to look at Mordred, who was steadily eating his peas with a placid expression.

‘Why what?’ Balinor asked, puzzled.

‘Why is it just theoretical?’ Mordred asked calmly, carefully scooping up his peas with his spoon.

Balinor looked at a loss for words. Merlin and Hunith exchanged wide-eyed glances.

‘Well,’ Balinor answered slowly. ‘Well – Merlin _isn’t_ working in London, is he?’

‘But he _could_ ,’ Mordred’s reply was more of a statement than a question.

‘Y-es, I suppose so,’ Balinor said, looking really quite confused now. ‘If he really wanted to.’

‘And if he wants to?’ Mordred asked calmly.

Balinor’s bushy eyebrows lowered and he seemed to realise that something was going on, as he immediately turned his eyes on Merlin.

‘I don’t know,’ he said evenly. ‘ _Does_ he want to?’

Merlin squirmed in his seat.

‘Well,’ he said slowly, the tips of his ears slowly going red under the attention of his whole family. ‘I don’t – I mean – maybe?’

The humorous look in Balinor’s eye was fast fading, replaced instead by a shrewd expression.

‘Is this something you’ve been thinking about, then?’ he asked lightly.

Merlin shrugged, his eyes on his plate.

‘Yes, I suppose,’ he said, not looking up.

Balinor studied him for a while, before glancing briefly at Hunith and then going back to Merlin.

‘London, eh?’ he said softly. He huffed out a sigh. ‘So, what’s brought this on, then?’

‘Dunno,’ Merlin muttered, but when Hunith kicked him under the table he went on. ‘I mean, that’s where it’s all happening, right? I mean, it’s _London_. There’s so much to see there. And _jobs_ , da! There must be so many jobs down there – _better_ ones; not just helping out on farms, or messing around in shops.’

‘That’s not _all_ there is to do here,’ Balinor scoffed.

‘It may as well be!’ Merlin persisted. ‘All these other jobs we’ve had lined up around here – what were they for? Farm work – or being a bleeding cashier boy down at the supermarket!’

‘I can see you feel strongly about this,’ Balinor said dryly.

‘But you understand, don’t you, da?’ Merlin continued. ‘I’m _eighteen_ years old. I need more than rain and hills and bloody _sheep_.’

Balinor sighed and turned to look at Mordred with an almost exasperated expression.

‘At least _you_ aren’t getting itchy feet,’ he grumbled, though without any true feeling.

‘Give it time,’ Mordred said pleasantly. ‘I’m only fourteen. I’ve got another four years yet.’

Balinor closed his eyes and gave a fake shudder.

‘God forbid,’ he joked, before sobering up, his expression suddenly serious. He cleared his throat. ‘I understand how you feel, lad,’ he said gently. ‘But I don’t think you understand what you’re talking about. London is a big place – it’s not _like_ here. You – you don’t know how different it is – how different the people are.’

‘Then let me _learn_ ,’ Merlin pleaded. ‘How will I know if I don’t see for myself?’

Balinor turned a troubled glance to Hunith.

‘What do you think?’ he asked her.

Hunith let out a contemplative hum.

‘Well,’ she said after a moment. ‘He’s right. How will he know if he doesn’t go there himself? He’s young, love, but he’s not stupid. He’s a strong boy, our Merlin. I think we should give him a chance.’

Balinor looked at her dolefully.

‘Of course you do,’ he grumbled. ‘Should have known, the two of you always plotting together, like.’

‘You’re paranoid, love,’ Hunith said cheerfully.

‘Isn’t paranoid if it’s true,’ Balinor grunted, but he didn’t look upset. He sighed. ‘That’s truly what you think?’

‘It is,’ Hunith said gently.

Balinor huffed out a sigh.

‘But what will he do?’ he asked after a moment, sounding at a loss. It was as if he and Hunith were alone, and Merlin and Mordred weren’t in the room. Realising this, the boys kept very still, not wanting to miss what was being said. ‘Who will look after him? You know what he’s like, Hunith, we can’t just send him off alone with the way he is. Be robbed blind the moment he enters the city, he will.’

Merlin valiantly refrained from making a noise of outrage.

‘I’ve already thought of that, dear,’ Hunith said calmly. ‘We’ll send him to my uncle. You remember Uncle Gaius, don’t you?’

Balinor shot up straight in his chair. He stared at Hunith. It was clear that he _did_ remember this Uncle Gaius.

‘Oh,’ he said slowly, but a vein in his head was throbbing. ‘And just what will he be doing with Uncle Gaius?’

‘He’ll be his assistant, of course,’ Hunith said calmly, completely ignoring the warning signs brewing around Balinor’s head. ‘Unless he’s already got one. But I don’t think he would refuse us, do you? And I’m sure there’s all sorts of things that Merlin could do in a photography studio.’

‘Studio?’ Merlin piped up interestedly, unable to keep himself quiet.

‘Merlin, Mordred, out!’ Balinor snapped, as if suddenly realising that they were there.

‘But I haven’t finished my-’

‘Leave, please, _cariad_ ,’ Hunith said pleasantly, while she herself continued to calmly eat. ‘Take your plates into the next room if you need to.’

Grumbling mutinously, Merlin and Mordred made their way out of the room, plates in hand. They walked deliberately slowly and lingered by the doorway just long enough to hear Balinor lose his cool.

‘Hunith, how _dare_ you suggest that we send our son to that – that _traitor_?’

‘Now, now, love, you know as well as I-’

The door shut, taking with it any chances of Mordred and Merlin listening in on the conversation.

Sighing, Merlin turned to look at Mordred.

‘Sofa?’ he asked, arching his eyebrow and gesturing his head towards the semi-full plates that they were still carrying.

Mordred nodded in agreement and so they made their way to the front room, where they sat down and began to eat in silence.

‘So,’ Mordred said after a few minutes. ‘Who’s Uncle Gaius?’

Merlin, relieved that Mordred had brought it up, shrugged.

‘No idea,’ he said. ‘I think I may have heard mam and da mention him once ages ago, but his name doesn’t really ring any bells.’ He swallowed some of his mashed potato. ‘Don’t think da likes him very much though.’

‘Mam seems fine about him,’ Mordred replied easily. ‘Do you think you will end up working there in London, then?’

‘Dunno,’ Merlin shrugged again. ‘It only ever came up this afternoon. I want to though. All the other lads from school are leaving to go and try their luck there, you know. And photography sounds interesting, I think.’

‘Do you know anything about taking photos?’ Mordred asked curiously.

‘No, but I’m sure I can learn,’ Merlin said, smiling. ‘It can’t be that hard, can it? Just point and click and all that.’

‘Hmm,’ Mordred hummed, non-committal. Then: ‘I’ll miss you if you go away.’

Merlin blinked. He wasn’t used to his younger brother saying such things. Usually he was very reserved and quiet when it came to his feelings. 

‘Oh Mordred,’ he put his plate aside and put his arm around his brother. ‘I’ll miss you too, you know. Very much. But we don’t even know if I am going – da might put his foot down.’

Mordred let out a snort.

‘He might _try_ ,’ he said, smiling. ‘But when has that ever worked against mam?’

‘True,’ Merlin laughed. ‘He seemed really angry about this though …’

‘Don’t worry,’ Mordred shook his head. ‘Mam will win out, you’ll see. You’ll be off to London in no time.’ He paused and looked up at Merlin, his hair falling into his face and his blue eyes round and wide. He looked even younger than his fourteen years at that moment. ‘You will write me, yeah?’

‘Every week,’ Merlin assured him, squeezing him tightly.

‘Right,’ Mordred nodded and went back to eating.

They were still sitting there in silence when the dining room door cracked open and Balinor and Hunith finally stepped out. They glanced at each other before moving forward.

‘Boys,’ Balinor said, taking a deep breath. ‘We’ve come to a decision …’

  


  
*****  


Arthur took a puff of his cigarette and studied the model in front of him thoughtfully. She was a delicate, pretty thing, but there was something a bit too … _off_ about her. She listened attentively to him, and she posed the way he wanted her to, but – but there wasn’t anything _real_ about her. Arthur couldn’t put his finger on what it was that he wanted, but whatever it was, the girl in front of him was not it. The two or three dozen models before her hadn’t been it either.

Breathing in a lungful of smoke, Arthur half-heartedly directed the girl into another pose. She followed his instructions to the letter, her pretty face as blank and expressionless as it had been since the moment that she had walked in, her eyes showing nothing but a willingness to please that for some reason fuelled Arthur’s impatience. Rubbing at his eyes, he made a move towards his camera before pausing and then sighing. 

‘Never mind,’ he said tiredly, blinking the boredom out of his eyes. ‘I’m afraid it’s not working out, Polly. I won’t be requiring your services any longer.’

The girl fell out of her pose and, for the first time since she had appeared at the studio the day before, showed some signs of animation.

‘It’s _Molly_ ,’ she said, her eyes narrowing and her hands coming to rest on her hips. ‘And what do you mean it’s not working out? Last night you-’

‘Last night I said a lot of things,’ Arthur drawled, taking a drag from his cigarette. ‘Sorry doll, but I’m afraid that it’s over.’

She gave a snarl, her fists balled up, and Arthur felt himself itching for his camera. He didn’t think the girl – _Molly_ – would appreciate having her picture taken at this particular instant, however, so he refrained. He wasn’t _that_ desperate for the photo that he would risk getting a black eye.

Speaking of eyes, he glanced up just in time to see an inquisitive pair of blue ones dart away the moment his own made contact. Arthur watched in interest as a head ducked down, long strands of dark hair covering a face but failing to cover the amusingly large ears that were slowly turning bright red. As Arthur watched, the boy – for it was indeed a boy – gripped the handle of the broom he was wielding all the tighter and started brushing down the floors with impressive enthusiasm that Arthur was sure had not been there moments before.

Molly, seeing that Arthur’s attention was directed elsewhere, gave an outraged huff and stamped her foot.

‘ _You_ , sir, are _not_ a gentleman!’ she snapped, turning on her heel and marching towards the door.

‘And you, my dear, are hardly a lady,’ Arthur replied with a careless shrug.

He paid little attention to her screech of rage, or the sound of a door slamming after her. He instead watched in interest as the boy with the broom – and who was he, exactly, Arthur had never seen him before – glanced up curiously, only to duck back down once again when he saw that Arthur was watching.

Arthur leaned against his desk and brought his cigarette up to his lips. He watched in amusement as the boy desperately tried to make himself as inconspicuous as possible in a hall that contained only the two of them. Arthur allowed himself a grin as the boy’s ears grew redder and redder under his gaze, clearly aware of the scrutiny he was under.

Arthur was just about to call out to him when someone beat him to it.

‘Merlin!’ Gaius’s voice carried down the hall, making the boy jump. Gaius bustled in moments later, looking ever so slightly exasperated. ‘There you are Merlin, I’ve been looking all over for you. Didn’t I say that you were to clear up Studio Number One?’

The boy looked up at Gaius’s words and Arthur had to catch his breath. The boy was – he was _perfect_.

The boy – _Merlin_ – was frowning, his forehead crinkled beautifully in dismay.

‘Is this not Studio One?’ he asked.

Arthur sucked in a breath. Merlin had a low, melodious voice and a distinctive Welsh accent that was almost as entrancing as his gorgeous blue eyes.

‘ _No_ , Merlin,’ Gaius’s voice still held the remnants of exasperation but his tone was nevertheless affectionate. ‘It’s not.’

Arthur was intrigued.

‘That explains it,’ Merlin said with a sigh. ‘This place didn’t _look_ as if it needed much cleaning …’

‘Oh it does,’ Arthur said airily, making both Merlin and Gaius jump. ‘Feel free to get on with it, don’t mind me.’

Merlin scowled at that, and Arthur found himself delighted by the expressiveness of his face.

‘Oh Arthur,’ Gaius pushed the long, grey hair away from his face. ‘I didn’t see you there. Allow me to introduce you to my nephew, Merlin.’

‘Merlin, eh?’ Arthur said, uncoiling himself from where he was draped against his desk. He pulled himself up and strutted forward till he was right in front of the boy, cigarette still in hand. ‘Where’d he come from?’

‘Wales,’ Gaius said, patting Merlin’s shoulder. ‘He’s my niece Hunith’s boy. They asked me to take him in, get him used to the city.’

Arthur flicked a glance from Merlin’s feet to the top of his head.

‘Hmm,’ he said speculatively. ‘I could show him the ropes, if you like.’

Gaius apparently missed the speculative look in Arthur’s eyes as well as Merlin’s expression of panic.

‘Would you?’ he asked gratefully. ‘I’m afraid I’m much too busy to attend to him at the moment and he really does need to have an eye kept on him. He’s not used to our London ways, you see.’

Arthur, who was watching Merlin flush red in a mixture of anger and embarrassment, smirked.

‘Don’t worry, I’ll keep an eye on him,’ he said airily, reaching out to clap a hand of his own on Merlin’s shoulders. ‘Make sure he learns our big city ways.’

‘Thanks, Arthur,’ Gaius said, and before Merlin could protest, he was gone, leaving the two young men alone.

‘So,’ Arthur said after a minute. ‘Merlin, huh?’

‘Yes,’ Merlin said stiffly. ‘And you’re Arthur, eh?’

‘In the flesh,’ Arthur said, giving a graceful bow. ‘Arthur Pendragon, at your service.’

‘I have no need for your service, thank you,’ Merlin said, looking at Arthur distrustfully.

‘I’m only trying to be _chivalrous_ ,’ Arthur said with a dramatic roll of his eyes. ‘It is my duty as an English citizen to make our Welsh brethren feel at home when visiting our fair land.’

Merlin snorted.

‘First of all, I’m not a _girl_ to need your chivalry,’ he said dryly. ‘And secondly, stop giving yourself airs.’ He sniffed. ‘You sound like a right toff.’

Arthur’s mouth quirked up at the side.

‘ _First of all_ ,’ he said, mimicking Merlin. ‘You’re pretty enough to be a girl.’ Merlin flushed bright red, making Arthur smirk. ‘And secondly, I _am_ a toff. Well. What _you_ would call a toff, at any rate.’

‘Come off it!’ Merlin exclaimed. He sobered slightly when Arthur merely raised an eyebrow at him. ‘ _You?_ Some sort of nobleman or the like?’

‘Lord Arthur Pendragon,’ Arthur said, once more sweeping into a gallant bow. ‘54th Earl of Avalon, at your service.’

Merlin stared at him, open-mouthed.

‘You’re not joking, are you?’ he asked wonderingly. ‘You’re serious. You _are_ a toff!’ He paused. ‘Or a madman, but I don’t think Uncle Gaius would employ one of those.’

That seemed to ruffle Arthur’s feathers.

‘I beg your pardon, but Gaius does _not_ employ me,’ he said sharply. 

Merlin blinked.

‘Your Uncle Gaius and I are _partners_ ,’ Arthur said, stressing the last word. ‘We set up the business a few years back, after I left my father’s company. We’re both accomplished photographers.’

‘Why did you leave your father’s company?’ Merlin asked, interested.

Arthur shrugged.

‘It wasn’t my scene,’ he said carelessly. ‘Too many rules, too many dead eyes.’

‘Dead eyes?’ Merlin sounded curious.

‘Yeah, dead eyes,’ Arthur nodded. ‘Dead, lifeless, dull.’ He glanced over at Merlin and suddenly leaned forward so that he was in Merlin’s space, his lips right against Merlin’s face. ‘Now _your_ eyes, on the other hand …’

‘Yes?’ Merlin asked, slightly nervously.

‘Your eyes are magnificent,’ Arthur declared, with no hint of mockery. Indeed, his look was serious and speculative rather than playful. ‘Warm, alive, full of expression.’ He nodded and gestured with his cigarette. ‘I could photograph those eyes all day long. Not to mention your cheekbones. They’d kick right off the shot, they would. Magnificent. And then your bone structure and complexion … not to mention your _mouth_ …’

Merlin’s mouth moved soundlessly as he stared at Arthur, incredulous.

‘Come to think of it …’ Arthur had now begun to move around Merlin, circling him speculatively, relentlessly, like a shark. ‘The angles of your body – although odd and at times awkward … yes, they have a certain appeal to them, I think. Certainly when contrasted with-’ He paused, as if struck. ‘But then again … why not?’ he murmured. ‘It’s not as if I plan on … Yes, I think that could work.’

Merlin was looking at him apprehensively.

‘What?’ he asked defensively. ‘What could work?’

‘You,’ Arthur said, giving a decisive nod.

‘Me?’ Merlin gaped at him.

‘Well – you _and_ me.’

Merlin gave Arthur a mistrustful look.

‘Are you – you aren’t … are you propositioning me?’ he blurted out, looking incredibly nervous.

Arthur’s pensive look changed into a leer.

‘Why, do you want me to?’

Merlin jumped back, his eyes wide.

‘I think I will go and find my Uncle Gaius now,’ he said in a tone as cold as he could make it, even though his eyes were still wide with apprehension.

‘No, no wait!’ Arthur quickly became serious again and reached out to grab Merlin by the arm. ‘I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have said that. But seriously now – I want to work with you.’

Merlin frowned. He stopped trying to pull away from Arthur’s grip and instead turned and crossed his arms.

‘ _You_ want to work with _me_?’ he said, incredulity dripping from every word.

‘Yes.’

‘I suppose you’re not talking about sweeping floors and cleaning toilets.’

Arthur grinned at that. The boy seemed to have a personality beneath that fragile-seeming exterior.

‘I’m most certainly not,’ he agreed. ‘I was rather thinking something on the lines of you being my model.’

Merlin stared. He blinked and glanced around him before going back to staring at Arthur.

‘I’m sorry,’ he said, shaking his head. ‘Were you talking to _me_?’

Arthur raised an eyebrow.

‘No, I’m talking to the _other_ Merlin in the room.’ When Merlin still didn’t look entirely convinced, he let out an exasperated sigh. ‘ _Of course_ I’m talking to _you_. _Honestly_ , Merlin! You might be pretty, but you sure are dim!’

That seemed to get a reaction out of Merlin.

‘Oh yeah?’ he glared, visibly incensed. ‘Well at least I’m not a complete and utter _clot_ \- whoa, wait. You think I’m _pretty_?’

Arthur gave a careless shrug.

‘You’re odd-looking, there’s no doubt about it,’ he said with a sniff. ‘But you aren’t without a certain kind of prettiness, it seems. I mean you’re _unusual_ -looking, and your ears are rather big-’

‘Oi!’ Merlin protested, his hands going up to cover his ears which were turning a bright red.

Arthur continued.

‘But despite all that – _particularly_ your dress sense -- who dressed you, a seventy-year-old blind woman? – you are indeed _pretty_.’

‘Couldn’t you say “handsome” instead?’ Merlin grumbled, only slightly mollified at Arthur’s admission of his attractiveness. ‘I mean – pretty is for _girls_. Not to mention this whole _modelling_ lark is, as well. Why would you want _me_ instead of some skirt?’

‘My reasons are my own,’ Arthur said loftily. ‘And being an _exceptional_ photographer, I know what will work and what won’t. Besides, it’s not as if I’m going to _show_ anyone these pictures. They’re just …’

‘For private use?’ Merlin asked, raising an eyebrow.

‘Yes – no! Well, they’re practice, see? You’ll be my practice model so I can see how things look before my _real_ models come in. Practice, yes? Experimenting and all that.’

‘So,’ Merlin said slowly. ‘You’re saying that no one will actually _see_ these things?’

‘No,’ Arthur nodded. ‘I mean yes. They’ll just be kept between you and me.’

‘Hmm,’ Merlin eyed the camera in the room pensively.

‘Come on,’ Arthur said encouragingly. ‘What have you got to lose?’

Merlin turned to him and his eyes were speculative.

‘You’ll up my salary?’ he demanded.

‘Er – yes,’ Arthur said, nodding quickly.

‘And you’ll clear it with Gaius?’

Arthur nodded.

‘Absolutely.’

‘No more cleaning toilets?’

‘We-ell …’

‘Yes?’

‘No, actually, I don’t see that working out …’

‘Fine, then no cleaning toilets on the days you ask me to model for you. Yes?’

‘Fine.’

‘Fine.’

‘It’s a deal.’

‘That’s that then.’

They both stared at each other for a moment.

‘So,’ Arthur said after a minute. ‘You want to go stand over there for me?’

Merlin started.

‘What – now?’

Arthur rolled his eyes.

‘ _Yes_ now, Merlin! It’s not as if you are doing anything now, anyway.’

‘But I’m-’

‘Oh don’t worry, I will clear it with Gaius!’

‘But-’

‘Do you _want_ to be cleaning out toilets now?’

Merlin’s mouth snapped shut.

‘Where do you want me?’ he asked determinedly.

Arthur smirked.

‘Why don’t you just head to the front of the room for me?’ he murmured, raising his camera.

  


  
*****  


Arthur sighed happily as he looked through his prints. They were among the best he had ever done, even if he said so himself. The lighting, the contrast, the sharpness … he smiled, pleased.

As he flicked through the pictures, his eyes came to rest on one in particular. He paused and looked over it appreciatively. Yes, he had done well, he thought. A good choice of background; it formed a very nice contrast to the Subject. Humming softly, he scrutinised the picture. As he did so his eyes seemed to wander away from background and instead found themselves sliding over to fix on the shadows formed by Merlin’s eyelashes. Very effective, Arthur thought vaguely, very nicely done. Gives an overwhelming effect of appealing innocence - and yet there was a coyness about the look that invited more. And as for that almost mischievous hint of a smile on those full red lips ... Arthur had to suck in a breath. It was perfect. Absolutely, beautifully perfect.

Finding himself staring, Arthur quickly cleared his throat and shook his head, turning away even though there was no one else in the room with him. He determinedly fixed his mind elsewhere but, try as he might, he couldn’t stop his eyes from wandering back to the picture.

Well, he thought wryly, if only he could duplicate this effect on all the other pictures he took, then he would be sorted. Magazines would be kicking down the door for his services.

Sighing, Arthur turned the photograph over and reached for his camera. He had an appointment with a pretty blonde model in the next half an hour and it wouldn’t do to be caught mooning over a pretty mouth and a pair of fluttering eyelashes, even if they were just on paper.

  


  
*****  


‘No no no no no!’ Arthur fumed, tempted to throw down his camera in frustration. ‘That is _not_ the way I want you to look! Angle your eyes _down_. Leave your neck _straight_. Do. Not. _Smile._ What on earth is so hard about this?’

The model in front of him seemed to come close to losing her temper as well.

‘I’m _doing_ all that,’ she hissed through gritted teeth.

‘Well _obviously_ you aren’t, because _otherwise I would like it_!’ Arthur bellowed.

The model snapped.

‘Oh I’ve had it with you!’ she shouted, pulling out of her pose and drawing herself up. ‘Don’t do _this_! Do _that_! You know, this is _really_ not worth the hassle, the money ain’t _that_ good.’ 

‘Fine!’ Arthur roared, storming after her. ‘ _Leave!_ I don’t have time for second-rate models anyway!’

The door closed with a slam. Arthur growled and turned away in frustration.

Moments later, the door opened again. Arthur whirled around to snarl at the returning model, only to find instead that his visitor was Gaius.

Gaius cast a mild glance over Arthur’s red face and bedraggled frame.

‘Another one, Arthur?’ he asked gently.

Arthur sighed and ran his hands over his face.

‘I don’t get it, Gaius,’ he said in a broken voice. ‘Something’s happened. None of these girls are _working_ for me. They’re just not _good enough_. And yet everything they do is spot on, is _perfect_. Why isn’t it good enough, Gaius? What’s wrong with it? Is it me?’

Gaius gave Arthur an inscrutable look.

‘You know,’ he said thoughtfully. ‘I rather think it is.’

Arthur stared. He hadn’t actually _thought_ that the problem was him.

‘What?’ he demanded. ‘What do you mean? Is it gone? Have I lost it?’ His words took a turn from indignant to frightened at the end.

Gaius was shaking his head.

‘No, it’s not that,’ he said soothingly. ‘In fact – it’s quite the opposite. It appears that you have _found_ it.’

‘Found what?’ Arthur asked, bemused.

‘Your Muse,’ Gaius answered simply.

Arthur scoffed.

‘That’s unlikely. Where would I have found it? I’ve been doing everything the way I’ve always done it. Nothing’s changed. The only thing I’m doing now is practicing with Mer-’ his voice stuttered before coming to a stop.

Gaius was watching with knowing eyes.

‘Merlin?’ he offered, his voice kind.

Arthur shook his head.

‘No,’ he said, swallowing. ‘No, that’s daft. How would _that_ happen? He’s just some skinny, annoying, pesky little shrimp-’

‘Please _do_ remember that he’s also my great-nephew,’ Gaius murmured, raising his eyes to the Heavens.

‘Yes, yes, sorry Gaius – but _how_ could this _happen_?’ he groaned, clutching at his face. ‘He’s just so – so _odd_.’

‘Looks-wise or personality-wise?’ Gaius asked, head tilted to the side.

‘Both,’ Arthur groaned. ‘No – no, that’s not right. He’s – he’s _amazing_ , Gaius, you should see the pictures we take together. He _glows_ , Gaius, he really does. And it comes so _naturally_ to him, I don’t even have to direct him, most of the time! It’s like he was born with this – with this _inner fashion model persona_ , and I’m the only one who can see it – I’m the only one who can _photograph_ him.’

Gaius watched him with an expression that was a mixture of wariness and indulgence.

‘If I didn’t know better,’ he murmured. ‘I would say that you were infatuated with him.’

Arthur laughed.

‘Don’t be absurd,’ he chuckled. ‘Imagine _that_ , me infatuated with _Mer_ -’ he stopped, mid-sentence.

Gaius gave a small grunt and patted Arthur on the back.

‘Don’t worry too much about it,’ he said gruffly. ‘So Merlin is your muse. At least you’ve _got_ one. My advice is to get out your camera and _do_ something about it.’

And with one last pat on Arthur’s shoulder, he turned and walked out of the room.

  


  
*****  


‘That’s good, that’s great. Now just turn a little to the left. _That’s_ it. Hold that pose!’

Merlin obediently moved in the way that Arthur had asked but the moment the picture was taken his expression dropped.

‘Do we _have_ to do this out here?’ he asked, glancing around restlessly.

Arthur had thrown him a curveball that morning when he said that for their session that day they would be venturing outside the confines of the studio and into the open. Merlin, who had previously been all for keeping their arrangement under wraps, was rather startled to hear this.

‘We’ve been cooped up in here for too long,’ Arthur had explained. ‘And I’m getting tired at staring at the same backdrops over and over again. The whole point of me taking these pictures is for them to be natural and being stuck in a poky little studio is as far from natural as is possible.’

Merlin (who thought that the studio was really quite spacious, but then again what did _he_ know?) had tried to protest the move, not keen on being photographed in public, but Arthur had run roughshod over him and so here they were, in a sparsely populated corner of the park, taking pictures.

‘I _told_ you, Merlin,’ Arthur said patiently, snapping a photograph. ‘I’m trying to make things as natural and realistic as possible.’

‘Could you at least hurry it up?’ Merlin asked impatiently, jiggling his foot. He couldn’t help feeling rather exposed, here in the open, where a handful of curious passers-by kept glancing over at them in interest.

Arthur made a noise of muted outrage.

‘ _Hurry it up?_ ’ he repeated. ‘Have you gone completely mental? This is _art_ , Merlin, not a chore. You can’t _rush_ art!’

Merlin muttered something uncomplimentary under his breath.

‘If you say so,’ he grumbled.

‘I do,’ Arthur said haughtily. ‘It’s not _easy_ , you know Merlin. Things may have moved faster in the studio, but that was a contained environment. There I could control things – the light, the background – everything. Out here it’s completely different. It’s just you and the camera.’ He gave a happy sigh. ‘Out _here_ is the real test of a photographer’s skill, make no mistake.’

‘If so, then why do you use that thing?’ Merlin asked, cocking his head and nodding at Arthur’s camera. ‘I don’t know much about cameras, but that one’s rather old fashioned, isn’t it? And why don’t you use a tripod? Don’t your pictures come out all shaky?’

Arthur, who had stilled at the first question, shook his head.

‘No, I have a steady hand,’ he said distractedly. ‘And tripods are too cumbersome – can you _imagine_ carrying that about everywhere? It would be a nightmare. Also, personally I think they become something of a crutch. Worst thing to happen to photography, tripods. Makes photographers lazy, unadventurous. Unwilling to take risks.’

‘And that’s what you do?’ Merlin asked curiously. ‘You take risks?’

Arthur raised an eyebrow.

‘I’m photographing _you_ , aren’t I?’ 

Merlin had no response to that.

‘So what about the camera?’ he asked eventually. 

‘What about it?’

‘Why do you use it?’

Arthur grunted.

‘S’personal,’ he said shortly and went back to snapping a few more photographs.

‘Okay,’ Merlin said, frowning thoughtfully. ‘I get that, but wouldn’t a new one be better? Quality-wise, that is. I mean – it’s an awfully small camera, don’t you think? Won’t the pictures come out all small and … stuff?’

Arthur shook his head.

‘No,’ he said, still focusing elsewhere. ‘The size actually makes very little difference. And the camera still takes normal film, so there’s no real point in changing the model just for that reason. As for the size of the prints - I have a method of developing the film that allows me to get the pictures as big as I want, their quality just a good as if I was using a more modern camera. _Better_ quality, even.’

‘Oh,’ Merlin said, impressed despite himself. ‘If that’s so, then why doesn’t everyone else do that?’

‘They don’t know how,’ Arthur grunted. ‘It’s my method – I came up with it. Besides, it’s not like the others want to do what I do. They like their big cameras and stuffy studios. Not a lick of adventurousness in them, the lot of them.’

Merlin hummed, lapsing into thoughtfulness. He refrained from speaking for the rest of the session, meekly turning and adjusting himself to suit Arthur’s verbal directions.

Finally, when the sun had set too low for there to be sufficient light, Arthur let out a sigh and lowered his camera.

‘I think we’re done for the day,’ he said, but he still sounded strangely dissatisfied.

‘Is something wrong?’ Merlin asked tentatively.

‘Hmm,’ Arthur frowned. ‘No-o, not really.’ But he still didn’t sound fully content.

‘Yes there is,’ Merlin said, putting his hands on his hips. ‘You know there is. Tell me – what is it?’

‘Well – I was just thinking-’

‘Yes?’

‘-That the best results usually occur when the Subject is in their natural environment. It relaxes them, makes them feel more comfortable.’ Arthur said, still frowning thoughtfully.

Merlin gave Arthur a piercing look. 

‘So what you are saying is … that you would like to see _me_ in my natural environment?’

‘Precisely,’ Arthur gave a sharp nod.

Merlin was looking at Arthur strangely.

‘I suppose you’re not talking about me in front of the telly with some fish and chips?’

Arthur snorted.

‘You got _that_ right.’

‘So that means that …’

‘That means that I think that you should take me home with you.’

Merlin stared.

‘Er … _what?_ ’ 

‘You should take me home with you,’ Arthur repeated, as if this was a perfectly normal thing to be saying. But then again, perhaps to him it was. Maybe this was what he said to all the models that he went home with.

‘But …’

‘But _what_?’

‘But _why_?’ Merlin burst out, sounding completely bewildered.

Arthur rolled his eyes.

‘Were you really not listening when I was telling you about natural environments?’

‘I just – is this really _necessary_?’

Apparently that was the wrong thing to say, as it made Arthur puff up like an overly indignant pigeon.

‘ _Necessary?_ ’ he repeated. ‘Oh, no, it’s not _necessary_. It’s only my _art_ – my _livelihood_ – that’s at stake here!’

Merlin stared at him, torn between incredulity and exasperation. After a moment he rubbed his at his face and looked away, his mouth turned down at the corners.

‘I – I don’t …’ he shifted about miserably.

Arthur sighed and ran a hand through his hair.

‘I’m sorry,’ he said, his voice gentler now. ‘I don’t mean to bully you into taking me home or anything. It’s just – I think that this would really help, Merlin,’ he said earnestly. ‘I honestly think that this will help us, that this is what we need to do.’

‘We?’ Merlin asked shyly, looking up at Arthur from under his eyelashes.

Arthur paused.

‘Well. Me. I mean _me_ , of course,’ he said, clearing his throat awkwardly.

‘Right, of course.’

‘Yeah.’

‘…You really think that this will help? Coming home with me, I mean?’

‘Well … yeah,’ Arthur said awkwardly. ‘I think – I think that I should see you in your natural habitat. Know what you’re like and everything. So that I can use it to compose your photos better,’ he explained hurriedly. ‘Know what sort of thing suits you and all that.’

‘O-kay,’ Merlin said, a tad doubtfully. Then: ‘You _do_ know I live in Wales, right?’

Arthur rolled his eyes again.

‘ _Yes Mer_ lin,’ he said, huffing. ‘I rather think that the _accent_ gave that away.’

‘Right,’ Merlin said blushing. ‘As long as you know and all. I suppose I can ask my mam and da if it’s all right.’

‘Right then!’ Arthur said cheerfully. ‘That’s sorted.’

‘Well I still have to ask them and all-’

‘It’s sorted!’ Arthur repeated, determinedly talking over Merlin.

Merlin opened his mouth but then shut it with a snap.

When it came to Arthur, resistance, it seemed, was futile.

  


  
*****  


‘…This is it?’

Merlin frowned, narrowing his eyes at Arthur’s unimpressed tone. He knew that Ealdor station was nothing to look at – just a concrete platform with an old sign – but Merlin had always felt that the place was charming. He and his best friend Will used to come here as children, playing a game of marbles or conkers on the platform while they waited to see the one train that passed through, allowing it to approach the station before running over to the nearby hill and waving their handkerchiefs furiously when the train sped away. As he got older, Merlin had often brought his younger brother Mordred here too, before he stopped idolising Merlin’s every move. Merlin held very fond memories of this place and so he did not very much appreciate Arthur’s look of disdain.

‘This is it,’ he said, his voice clipped.

Arthur screwed up his nose.

‘It’s very …’ he trailed off.

‘Rustic?’ Merlin offered.

‘That’ll do, I suppose,’ Arthur said with a shrug. He turned and looked around, frowning. ‘I don’t see anyone here. Your parents _are_ expecting us, right?’

‘Of course,’ Merlin said, hefting his suitcase up. ‘But they’ll be waiting for us at home.’

Arthur blinked.

‘Oh,’ he said after a minute. ‘So we have to get a taxi?’

Merlin gave Arthur a bemused look.

‘Do you see any taxis around here?’ he asked.

Arthur looked even more befuddled than before.

‘So what do-’ 

Merlin sighed.

‘We’re walking, _twpsyn_.’

‘ _Walking_?’ Arthur exploded. Clearly he wasn’t used to going somewhere where there was no red carpet laid out for his arrival. ‘And what was that you called me?’

Merlin bit back a grin.

‘Nothing,’ he said cheerily, grasping his suitcase tightly. ‘Now come on, city boy. Let’s get those soft little feet of yours in shape.’

‘I’ll have you know my feet are in perfect shape,’ Arthur grumbled. ‘I have someone tend to them at least once a week.’

‘And therein lies your problem,’ Merlin said, rolling his eyes. ‘Now keep quiet and come _on_.’

Unable to do anything else, Arthur reluctantly started to follow Merlin, muttering under his breath the whole while.

‘Is it much further?’ he asked, ten minutes in.

‘Just a bit,’ Merlin replied shortly.

Five minutes later:

‘Are we not there yet?’

‘Nope,’ Merlin said cheerfully. ‘This is Old Man Simmons’s farm – ours is a little way up still.’

‘This is _preposterous_ ,’ Arthur groaned. ‘I don’t know why I thought this was a good idea. There is _nothing_ good about this idea.’ He scowled. ‘Bloody Wales.’

‘Oi!’ Merlin said sharply, turning around. ‘Quiet, you. I don’t go around saying “bloody English”, do I now?’

‘Actually you do,’ Arthur informed him with a sniff. ‘But that’s not the point.’

‘And what _is_ the point?’ Merlin asked with a sigh.

‘The point is that _there are no taxis_ and that I am practically _covered_ in _mud_!’

Merlin let out a wide grin at that.

‘That you are,’ he said, sounding highly satisfied. ‘Looking almost like a normal lad now, not some polished hoity-toity little lordling.’

‘I’m perfectly happy _being_ a polished hoity-toity little lordling,’ Arthur retorted waspishly.

Merlin raised an eyebrow.

‘It shows,’ he said dryly. He nudged Arthur with his elbow. ‘Come on then, bonny prince Arty. Pick up those bags of yours and soldier on. No footmen to wait on you here.’

‘If you had any sense of class distinction or a _shred_ of propriety, then it would be _you_ lugging my things up this godforsaken hill and not me,’ Arthur grumbled.

‘Good thing that I don’t then!’ Merlin said cheerfully, traipsing up along the muddy path. ‘Buck up, you’re taking an absolute _age_.’

It was some time before they finally clambered off the muddy path and turned the bend that led the way to the Emrys family farm house. 

Arthur stopped and stared at it as it came into view.

Merlin, suddenly aware of just who his guest was and of the rather ramshackle nature of the house, bit his lip nervously.

‘This is it then?’ Arthur asked after a moment.

‘Yes.’ Merlin forced his voice to not go defensive.

Arthur stared at it for a moment longer before giving a nod.

‘Perfect,’ he said, a small smile sliding onto his face. ‘Just as I imagined it!’

Merlin blinked at him before narrowing his eyes suspiciously.

‘Are you taking the mick?’ he asked, glaring.

Arthur blinked.

‘I beg your pardon?’ he asked, frowning.

‘Are you being sarcastic-like?’ Merlin demanded, still glaring.

‘No!’ Arthur’s eyes widened slightly. ‘Merlin, honestly – I meant it. This is _exactly_ what I had in mind. What I imagined having as a backdrop to my photographs. Honestly, Merlin – it really _is_ perfect!’

‘Oh,’ Merlin said sheepishly, mollified. ‘Right. Sorry.’

‘That’s quite alright,’ Arthur said graciously. ‘Now lead the way – I’m _starving_!’

Merlin grinned at that.

‘Don’t worry – mam’s sure to have a big tea waiting for us when we get there.’ He nodded at Arthur’s waistline. ‘You’d better watch your belt there, laddie – you’ll be twice the normal size once we’re done with you.’

‘I’ll worry about that some time when my stomach isn’t trying to shrivel in on itself,’ Arthur said with a roll of his eyes.

‘Not far now,’ Merlin said encouragingly.

Arthur let out a sigh and nodded. With one almighty heave, he lifted his suitcase up and proceeded to follow Merlin down the path.

  


  
*****  


A hundred yards from the gate, Arthur saw a figure dressed in blue step out of the house beyond and come to wait by the fence. Arthur turned a curious eye on Merlin.

‘That’s me ma,’ Merlin confirmed with a cheerful nod. ‘She must have been keeping an eye out for us all day.’

Arthur nodded at that but couldn’t help his stomach from feeling all twisty inside. He found, somewhat to his surprise, that he was both eager and apprehensive about meeting Merlin’s mother. It wasn’t as if he had much experience with maternal figures, after all.

He braced himself as he approached the gate. Merlin’s mother was a dark haired, placid-looking woman with a gentle expression and warm eyes. She beamed when they neared, and though Arthur was sure that her smile was mostly directed at her son, he couldn’t help feeling bathed in warmth himself.

‘There you are!’ she said in a low, melodious voice. ‘I’ve been waiting for you two to arrive!’

‘Ma!’ Merlin was beaming brighter than Arthur had ever seen him and his arms were spread wide as he went to embrace his mother. They clung onto each other for a long time, leaving Arthur to stand awkwardly to the side, waiting for the hug to finish. When they finally pulled apart, Merlin’s mother wiped at her eyes even whilst smiling, and Merlin turned to Arthur. ‘Arthur, this is my mother, Hunith. Mam, this is Arthur – the one I wrote you about.’

‘Arthur!’ Hunith turned to Arthur with a smile that rivalled Merlin’s for genuineness and warmth. ‘It’s lovely to meet you.’ She clasped Arthur warmly by the arms.

‘Hello,’ Arthur said. ‘It’s a pleasure to meet you, Mrs. Emrys.’

‘And such a polite boy, too,’ Hunith beamed. She patted his cheek. ‘Come in, dear, you must be starving.’

‘Yes, rather,’ Arthur said, grateful. ‘I have to say that I’m famished.’

Hunith smiled. ‘Merlin will show you where to keep your things, and then you can wash and come down to tea.’

‘Sounds good,’ Arthur couldn’t help returning the smile as Hunith chivvied them into the house.

‘She’s forgotten me already,’ Merlin whispered, grinning. ‘Probably will want to adopt you by the end of the day.’

‘Merlin!’ Hunith clucked her tongue and rolled her eyes affectionately, but somehow Arthur couldn’t bring himself to mind the idea too much.

‘Come on Arthur,’ Merlin said, carrying his bags into the house, which Arthur saw was quite large and airy. ‘I’ll show you to your room.’

Arthur was quiet as he followed Merlin upstairs up to the bedroom.

‘Your mother,’ Arthur said. ‘She seems nice.’

‘She is,’ Merlin smiled. ‘She’s wonderful.’

Arthur didn’t say anything.

‘Here we are,’ Merlin said, showing Arthur to a door to their left. ‘You’ll stay here.’

‘Thanks,’ Arthur said, shuffling on his feet a bit awkwardly. ‘Where are you?’

‘Just next door,’ Merlin said reassuringly. ‘Just knock if you need anything. I’ll knock on your door in ten minutes?’

Arthur nodded.

Ten minutes later they were both unpacked and freshened up and were making their way down to the kitchen.

‘There now,’ she said, laying the tea on the table as they came in. ‘Be sure to help yourself Arthur.’ She smiled at him kindly. ‘Goodness knows that my two boys here never manage to eat as much as I would like.’

Merlin rolled his eyes.

‘That’s because you always make _far_ too much, ma,’ he said, smiling fondly at her. ‘And we eat just enough, thank you. Mordred and I can’t help that we’re naturally lean men.’

‘Mordred?’ Arthur asked curiously. ‘He’s your brother, yes?’

Merlin nodded.

‘A sight younger than me,’ he told Arthur. ‘He’s a quiet one, really. He should be down in a minute, I don’t know where he’s got to-’

‘Here,’ said a quiet voice next to Arthur, making Arthur almost jump out of his seat. ‘I just came down.’

‘Oh,’ Arthur stood up quickly and turned to face Mordred who, he was surprised to see, looked like a smaller, more solemn version of Merlin. His mind flickered over the possibility of photographing both siblings together – black and white prints for this one, he thought; it would make them all the more striking – but after a minute of Mordred staring blank and unblinkingly into his eyes without saying anything, he decided against it. ‘Er – hello there.’ He held out a hand for Mordred to shake.

Mordred stared at the hand but didn’t take it.

‘Hullo,’ he said instead, giving him a nod and one last scrutinising gaze before turning to Merlin. ‘Will he be staying long?’

Merlin gave Arthur an apologetic look.

‘Just for a week,’ he said calmly. ‘You don’t mind _very_ much, do you?’

Mordred shrugged.

‘I don’t mind at all,’ he said, sitting down in a chair and helping himself to sandwich. ‘Just wondered what da thought about it. Visitor from London and all.’

‘Your _da_ is perfectly happy to have visitors from London,’ Hunith said firmly, giving Arthur a reassuring smile. ‘Particularly since he himself doesn’t have to be here. Their father has gone down to see one of his friends in Port Talbot,’ she told Arthur. ‘He should be back in a day or two, but don’t you mind him. He’ll be happy to meet you, I’m sure.’

‘Yes,’ Arthur gave a tentative smile before shaking himself free of his shyness. He was _Arthur Pendragon_ he had no need to be _shy_. ‘May I have a sandwich, Mrs. Emrys?’

‘Oh, of course, dear!’ Hunith immediately forgot all else in her eagerness to feed her visitor. ‘I _am_ sorry – of course you would be near starving, poor lamb. Help yourself, love.’

Arthur found himself suddenly overwhelmed by the plates of food that were shoved towards him. Sandwiches made from freshly baked bread that smelled divine and scones with home-made jam and clotted cream (‘Ma’s specialty,’ Merlin had said with a happy sigh as he helped himself to two. ‘Can’t get the like in your London, that’s for sure!’) Arthur felt his mouth watering in anticipation.

‘I rather feel like I’m in an Enid Blyton novel,’ he said, slightly wide-eyed.

Merlin’s face crinkled up in mirth.

‘Aren’t you a bit old to be reading Miss Blyton?’ he teased.

Mordred looked up at that.

‘I don’t think that there is an age limit on her books,’ he said seriously.

Merlin blinked.

‘Er … right. Thank you, Mordred.’

Mordred nodded and turned his attention back to the eggs that he was now eating.

‘My sister made me read them,’ Arthur said quickly when Merlin turned on him. ‘It’s not like I _want_ to read children’s books.’

Merlin smirked.

‘ _Really?_ ’ he raised an eyebrow in challenge.

‘Yes,’ Arthur said haughtily. ‘Besides,’ he added. ‘Her depiction of boarding school is _ridiculously_ inaccurate.’

‘Oh, you went to boarding school?’ Hunith looked at Arthur in mild surprise. ‘Merlin never said. Of course, I thought, what with your way of talking and your manner and such …’ She became slightly flustered and instead started fussing around with the plates on the table.

‘I never asked about it,’ Merlin said, looking just as surprised. He grinned. ‘Makes sense, though, what with you being a posh boy and all.’

‘Shut up, Merlin,’ Arthur grumbled, cheeks going slightly red. ‘None of that matters.’

Hunith cast them a curious look, but Merlin had caught Arthur’s hint and didn’t say anything more on the subject. Instead, he turned the conversation onto his mother and brother and the rest of the meal was spent with pleasant, ordinary chatter over the dinner-table, the likes of which Arthur could not remember ever having had and with which he found himself quite charmed by.

By the end of the meal, Arthur felt well and truly stuffed, filled both with excellent food and the happy chatter of Merlin and his family. He couldn’t remember the last time that he had ever felt so at ease in another person’s home. Certainly, it wasn’t a feeling that he had experienced in his own home. At least, not since his mother had died.

Hunith made a move to clear the plates and Arthur at once stood up.

‘May I help you, Mrs. Emrys?’ he asked politely. He ignored the way that Merlin stared at him.

‘What a lovely, polite thing you are!’ Hunith smiled. She turned a look on her sons. ‘You could take a leaf out of his book, you two,’ she said, though it was clear that she wasn’t being serious. ‘But don’t worry yourself, _cariad_ – I am more than able to do it myself. Mordred here will help me.’ 

Mordred looked up from here he had been hunched in his seat and after meeting his mother’s eyes for two seconds, gave a stiff nod and turned away, going back to meditating silently in his seat. 

‘You boys have had a long journey,’ Hunith continued. ‘You must be tired. You had better go up to your rooms and rest. I’ll wake you in time for supper.’

‘I’m not sure I’ll have room for supper,’ Arthur said honestly.

Hunith smiled at that.

‘That’s what I like to hear,’ she said. ‘Now off with the both of you!’

After thanking Hunith for a splendid tea, Arthur and Merlin made their way up to their respective bedrooms.

‘So,’ Merlin said with a grin and a quick look back at the kitchen. ‘Worth the trek up from the station, was it?’

‘Yes,’ Arthur agreed, nodding slowly. ‘Yes, it was.’

He didn’t tell Merlin but he wasn’t just thinking of the sandwiches and scones – being with Hunith, Mordred and Merlin at home … it was the whole atmosphere.

‘Well then,’ Merlin said, a soft smile on his lips. ‘Have a nice nap, Arthur.’

‘You too,’ Arthur nodded at him, smiling awkwardly.

And with that they both turned and walked into their bedrooms, shutting the door behind them.

  


  
*****  


The days after ended up being some of the happiest that Arthur could ever remember having. Hunith fussed and clucked over him, treating him as if he were one of her own and Arthur couldn’t help but respond in turn, wanting to do everything that he could to please Hunith to the point that Merlin complained (loudly) that Arthur’s coming here was all a plot so that he could make away with Merlin’s mother. Arthur scoffed and cuffed Merlin lightly on the head for that, but secretly, he found that he was not at all averse to the idea. As long as he could keep Merlin too, that was. Photography was still his number one passion, after all, and Merlin _was_ his muse. According to Gaius, that is.

Arthur spent time with the Emrys family in the mornings and then, after Hunith had packed them a wonderful picnic lunch, went out with Merlin and his camera in the afternoons, traipsing and wandering over the fields and taking pictures wherever the inspiration took him. Which, as it happened, happened to be quite often.

‘Can’t we just … stop for a bit?’ Merlin asked, stretching out lazily on the grass, blinking almost drowsily.

‘Nope,’ Arthur said shortly, eyes narrowed in concentration. ‘Tilt your head to the left a bit.’

Merlin complied, neck stretched out almost obscenely, the collar of his shirt pulled down to reveal his collarbones.

Arthur found himself swallowing a breath and pulling back from his camera, staring down at the figure in front of him. As if alerted to this change, Merlin frowned and turned to look at Arthur.

‘Arthur?’ he asked uncertainly, squinting in the weak light. ‘Are you okay?’

‘Yeah,’ Arthur said, before swallowing and saying it once more in a firmer voice. ‘Yes, I’m fine. Now turn your head _back_ , Merlin. A little more. _There_.’

They would then return to the house where Hunith would meet them with smiles and warmth and then shoo them into the dining room where she would have dinner ready. Mordred was always present at dinner and even he seemed to slowly warm up to Arthur, in his own quiet little way. 

Arthur had never felt more content.

‘Honestly, Emrys,’ he said to Merlin one night after dinner, when they were both stretching out lazily on his bed. ‘I don’t know how you’re still so skinny. I’ve only been here for a few days and I already feel like I’m twice the size that I was when we came here.’

‘That’s because you are,’ Merlin said cheekily, before darting out of the way to avoid Arthur’s pointy finger jabbing into his side.

Arthur huffed out a sigh.

‘That’s no way to speak to your superiors,’ he sniffed.

Merlin rolled his eyes.

‘Not this _agai_ -’ he let out a high-pitched squeak as Arthur suddenly grabbed him in a head-lock, grinning triumphantly even as he clamped his arm firmly around Merlin’s neck.

They scuffled and after a few minutes, they were both lying back in the bed, chests heaving and broad grins on their faces.

‘Ha,’ Merlin panted. ‘That was – yeah …’ he sighed. He turned his head so that he was facing Arthur and nudged him. ‘Prat.’

Arthur turned his own head towards Merlin. As he looked at him, the glint in Arthur’s eye slowly died to be replaced with a solemn expression.

‘Arthur?’ Merlin asked, his brow creasing slightly.

Arthur’s hand came up to touch Merlin’s cheek and paused, millimetres away from Merlin’s lips.

Neither of them so much as breathed.

‘Arthur,’ Merlin asked after a moment, his voice coming out strangely breathy. ‘What are you doing?’

‘I-’ Arthur looked puzzled, as if he himself did not know what he was doing. He sat up and shook his head and suddenly the odd, vulnerable expression was gone and replaced with the smug, leering one of old. ‘I was just wondering if you wouldn’t mind helping work off those extra pounds,’ he waggled his eyebrows exaggeratedly and Merlin couldn’t help but laugh, even while he felt unsettled. 

‘Arthur,’ he said, half-laughing, half-uncomfortable, pushing himself up so that he was no longer lying down. ‘You know that – it’s – I’m not-’

Arthur looked at him for a moment. Then, with a huff, he shoved Merlin away and gave a rough laugh.

‘Yes, yes, I know,’ he said, shrugging a careless arm. ‘It’s just not done, right?’

Merlin looked down at his feet.

‘Yeah,’ Arthur rubbed his face. ‘Yeah I know. I was just … I was joking, all right?’

‘I know,’ Merlin said quickly. Then he added, ‘And even if I _were_ – you know – I wouldn’t do _it_ with _you_.’

‘Oh?’

‘Yeah,’ Merlin gave him a wry smile. ‘I’m not the one night stand kind of guy.’

Arthur stared at him for a moment before barking out a laugh.

‘No, I guess you’re not,’ he said, eyeing Merlin thoughtfully. Then, before Merlin could say anything in response, Arthur suddenly let out a war cry and tackled Merlin down on the bed, grabbing his head in a headlock once more.

Mordred, who was passing by the doorway, paused at the sound of shrieking and laughter before and rolled his eyes.

Lying panting and rosy-cheeked on the bed, Arthur and Merlin didn't care. Everything was once again perfect.

  


  
*****  


Those few halcyon days that Arthur spent in Wales were soft and dreamy and fuelled Arthur’s inspiration more than he would have believed possible. He found that he was torn between staying with the Emryses for as long as he could and going back home to his studio in London where he could spend hours and hours in his own private dark room, developing his prints one by one.

This choice, however, was soon taken out of his hands.

On the third day after Arthur’s arrival, he, Merlin, Mordred and Hunith were all sat down to lunch, cheerily chatting and laughing together, when a noise made them all pause. There was a muffled sound from the front of the house and then the sound of footsteps; everyone turned around in their seats to see who it was.

‘Hope you’ve left something for me,’ came a jocular voice and then a large, rather hairy man appeared from around the corner.

‘Da!’ Merlin burst out, a grin spreading on his face. He jumped out of his seat and threw his arms around his father, who smiled and patted Merlin on the back. ‘You’re early! We weren’t expecting you till tomorrow!’

‘Hallo, love,’ Hunith smiled, getting up from her chair and coming around to kiss her husband on his cheek. ‘How were the Effans? Does Daffyd still have that cold?’

The man – Balinor – laughed. 

‘Yes, they’re well, and yes he does!’ he said, smiling. He turned and smiled at Mordred. ‘Hello there, lad.’

‘Da,’ Mordred said, giving his father a grave nod before returning to his lunch. 

Balinor turned his head and, seeming to suddenly catch sight of Arthur, who was sitting awkwardly in his chair, stopped and stared.

‘Oh,’ he said, looking nonplussed for a moment. ‘Hello. Merlin’s friend from London, yes?’

Arthur cleared his throat and stood up.

‘Yes, sir,’ he said politely. ‘I’m Arthur,’ He held out his hand for Balinor to shake.

Balinor continued to stare. He had an odd expression on his face. He made no move to take Arthur’s hand and Arthur began to feel a bit awkward.

‘Arthur,’ Balinor said slowly. ‘And you – you work with Hunith’s Uncle Gaius?’

‘Yes,’ Arthur said, lowering his hand when he saw that Balinor wasn’t going to take it. ‘That is correct, sir.’

‘What’s your last name,’ Balinor suddenly barked, startling everyone.

‘Da-’ Merlin began, frowning.

‘Quiet, boy,’ Balinor said gruffly. He looked at Arthur. ‘What’s your name?’

‘Bally,’ Hunith started, looking tense, but her husband shushed her.

‘Your name,’ he said impatiently, looking at Arthur.

Arthur didn’t speak for a moment. Then:

‘Pendragon. I am Arthur Pendragon.’

A vein seemed to burst in Balinor’s forehead and his face was suddenly flushed with something that Arthur was terribly certain was anger.

‘You’re Uther Pendragon’s boy!’ he said, his voice low and dangerous as he stepped towards Arthur.

Arthur tensed.

‘You – you know my father?’ he kept his voice calm and polite.

‘Darling-’ Hunith tried but was ignored.

‘ _Know him?_ ’ Balinor spat. ‘Your blasted father _fired_ me!’

There was silence.

Then, as one, both Arthur and Merlin said:

‘ _What?!_ ’

Even Mordred’s round eyes were wide with astonishment.

‘Balinor,’ Hunith sighed, but Balinor just turned on her instead of Arthur.

‘You _knew_?’ he demanded. ‘All this time you’ve had this – this – _Uther’s son_ in our house and you said _nothing_?’

‘Arthur is not his father,’ Hunith said calmly, though there was a shadow of wariness behind her eyes as she surveyed her husband. ‘He’s just a young man. Why should I say anything?’

‘Because he’s a _Pendragon_!’ Balinor roared. ‘Because that _boy’s_ father nearly _ruined_ us, Hunith! 

‘That was hardly Arthur’s fault!’ Hunith protested.

‘That man turned us out into the cold with one small child and another one on the way and then told everyone in the business I was not to be trusted lest he rain down destruction on them.’ Balinor turned to glare at Arthur, his hands clenching into fists.

Arthur felt his heart sink. He knew his father had grown cold following his mother’s death, but this – surely his father wouldn’t have done _this_ without good reason?

‘No,’ he said, staring evenly back Balinor. ‘My father may be a hard man but he is not a vindictive one. He is a fair man – _ruthlessly_ fair, one might say. I cannot believe that he would have done this without good reason.’

‘Good reason!’ Balinor scoffed and it wasn’t a kind sound. ‘You’re just the same as your father – too proud and caught up in his own-’

‘Balinor!’ Hunith snapped, and it was the first time that Arthur had ever heard her sound so stern and fierce. 

He chanced a glance at Merlin who was standing off to Arthur’s side with his fists clenched and his skin pale as death, eyes confused.

Balinor took a step back at Hunith’s sharp tone. He closed his mouth on what he was going to say, but the anger, while now controlled, was far from gone. He brushed away the hair that was now hanging over his face.

‘Your father's _good reason_ for firing me was for being a friend to your mother.’ Balinor’s dark eyes caught Arthur's, burning away the righteous anger on the tip of Arthur's tongue. ‘He fired me because I was the one that encouraged her in her love for photography. Because he believed that _I_ was the reason that she died. He even told me as much. Now _you_ judge if that is fair or not.’

Arthur couldn’t speak. He didn’t know what to say. There were so many things that he wanted to ask – wanted to know. This man – Merlin’s father had known his mother. And, Arthur realised with a start, this man knew _him_ too. This was the man that Arthur had played around as a child, the one who his mother had always gone to and asked questions – this man had been the friendly photographer of his mother’s, the one who had mysteriously disappeared when Arthur had next returned to …

Suddenly Arthur felt ill.

‘I…’ he stammered. ‘I’m…’

But Balinor was shaking his head.

‘No,’ he said firmly. ‘No, I don’t want to hear it. I don’t want to hear you and I don’t want to see you. I – Get out.’

Arthur blinked.

‘I’m sorry, wha-’

‘Out,’ Balinor said, straightening and looking at Arthur with cold eyes. ‘Get out of my house. Now.’

‘Bally!’ Hunith gasped.

‘Da!’ Merlin scrambled to his feet. ‘Da – no!’

‘Quiet!’ Balinor glared at them. ‘He’s leaving. I will _not_ have a Pendragon living under my roof! I want no arguments!’

‘But he didn’t do anything wrong!’ Merlin protested, pushing forward.

‘Bally, _really_ , this is-’

‘No arguments!’ Balinor barked, stunning them into silence.

Mordred was watching the proceedings silently, his eyes wide.

Balinor turned to face Arthur.

‘When I come back from seeing to the chickens I want you to have gone,’ he said gruffly, speaking to the place just over Arthur’s shoulder.

And with that he turned on his heel and left the room, completely ignoring Merlin’s shock and Hunith’s angry protestations.

Merlin turned to Arthur, who was standing rooted to the spot, still reeling.

‘Arthur,’ he said desperately, clutching at Arthur’s shoulders. ‘Arthur, I’m so sorry – you wait, I’ll go and talk to him. I’ll make him understand.’

Arthur managed to struggle past the fog that was currently clouding his mind.

‘Don’t bother,’ he said dully, his whole frame sagging. ‘I- I’ll leave.’

‘Arthur-’

‘ _No_ , Merlin,’ Arthur said firmly. ‘You heard what your father said. You know why he’s – well. It’s perfectly reasonable, of course, I can’t say that I would want … yes, well. As I said – never mind.’

The front door slammed. Hunith was wringing a towel between her hands.

‘But where will you go?’ she asked, deep lines of worry etched in her face. ‘There won’t be another train for hours.’

‘He's not going anywhere!’ Merlin said. ‘Da is overreacting! Arthur never did anything to hurt him! He can’t just send him off like that! He’s _my_ friend!’

Arthur was shaking his head.

‘Merlin, it’s all right,’ he said, laying a hand on Merlin’s arm but Merlin jerked away.

‘No, it’s not,’ Merlin said, straightening up. ‘It’s not right, and I’m going to tell him so.’

‘Merlin, no,’ Arthur said, reaching out to grab Merlin, only to have him evade his grasp again. ‘Your father feels strongly about this, he won’t change his mind.’

‘Then I’ll just have to make him,’ Merlin said grimly, and before Arthur could say anything else, he had marched out of the kitchen and after his father. 

Arthur, Hunith and Mordred watched him leave in silence.

‘Balinor won’t listen,’ Hunith said after a moment. ‘I know my husband and he’s a good, understanding man. But on this matter he will not move.’ She sighed. ‘I am sorry, Arthur.’

‘No, no, I understand,’ Arthur said, shaking his head. ‘What my father did …’ he trailed off before giving himself a shake. ‘Well. I had better move quickly if I want to be gone before Mr. Emrys returns. If you would excuse me.’ He gave them a nod before making his way out of the kitchen.

Ten minutes later he returned, suitcase in tow and a determined expression on his face.

‘Hunith,’ he said, nodding to her, his manners his armour. ‘Thanks awfully for having me. It has been a pleasure. I will … Thank you.’ He turned stiffly and looked at Mordred, who was still sitting in the same position that he had been when Arthur had left for the bedroom. ‘Mordred,’ Arthur said solemnly. He held out his hand. ‘It’s been fun.’

Mordred rose from his seat and, with a grave expression, grasped Arthur’s hand in a firm shake.

‘Take care of your mother and brother for me,’ Arthur found himself saying. ‘Don’t let them get too upset over me.’

Mordred cocked his head to the side.

‘What makes you think that my brother will stick around?’ he asked, his tone curious.

Arthur stiffened at that, but quickly shook himself.

‘He will,’ he said shortly. ‘His – Your father wouldn’t like it if he continued to work for me.’ He glanced at his watch. ‘I had better be off, I’m afraid.’

‘Aren’t you going to say goodbye to Merlin?’ Mordred asked.

Arthur shook his head.

Mordred regarded him gravely.

‘I think,’ he said at last. ‘That my father is wrong about you.’

Arthur looked at Mordred for a moment. Then he reached out and ruffled the boy’s hair.

‘Thanks,’ he said, giving him a small smile. Then, turning around, he braced himself and took hold of his suitcase.

‘Well,’ he said, plastering on the same smile that he wore on the countless occasions when being photographed for his father’s magazine. ‘Goodbye, then.’

And with a nod and a smile, he slipped out the door, towing his suitcase behind him.

  


  
*****  


Merlin, meanwhile, was around the back of the house in order to get to the backyard chicken coops. Just as he’d said, Balinor was busy spreading chicken feed about while the birds milled around his feet.

Merlin stopped and watched him for a while, feeling an odd sort of constriction in his chest. He was torn between anger and understanding and he didn’t know which side took precedence. He bit his lip, anxious.

He loved his father very much, there was no question about it. His father had never been the most affectionate of men – something, perhaps his own city-based upbringing, had always seemed to hold him back – but Merlin had never taken it to heart. He had got his own affectionate nature from his mother, which, perhaps, was the reason that the two of them were so close. Mordred, solemn and taciturn as he was, took a great deal more after their father. But one thing that neither Emrys son had inherited, it seemed, was their father’s anger.

He had never seen his father so angry in his entire life. Yes, he had heard his mother and father and, when he was much younger, his grandparents, joke about Balinor’s short fuse, but he had never really given it much thought. His father was usually so even-tempered and calm that it seemed ridiculous to think of him losing his cool. If Merlin hadn’t seen it with his own two eyes just minutes before now, then he would never have believed it. It was as if his father had disappeared and another man had stepped into his place. He had never known that his father was capable of such deep anger and resentment. It almost frightened him. Even now, looking at his father’s back hunched over as he fed the chickens – something that Merlin had seen him do hundreds of times – he could see the residual effects of Balinor’s temper, his spine rigid and his movements stiff.

A slight shiver ran down Merlin’s spine but he determinedly shook it off. What was he so afraid of? It was his _da_ for goodness sakes, there was no need for him to be _scared_ or anything. Swallowing, Merlin screwed up his courage and took a step forward.

It took a moment for Balinor to notice him but when he did, he merely grunted.

‘What are you doing out here?’ he muttered.

Merlin shrugged, before realising that his hands had somehow made their way into his pockets – a nervous tell of his – and he made himself pull them out.

‘Jus’ wanted to talk, that’s all,’ he mumbled.

Balinor snorted, unamused.

‘So talk,’ he said.

Merlin’s foot scuffed the ground and he scowled. Balinor wasn’t making this easy. He bit his lip. He knew that he should try to go slow, to be calm and reasonable in order to persuade his father around to his point of view, but unfortunately, delicacy wasn’t one of Merlin’s strong suits.

‘I think you’re wrong to make Arthur go,’ he blurted out. His mouth clamped shut the moment the words left his lips.

There was silence.

When Balinor spoke, it was in a low voice.

‘That’s your opinion,’ he said in an even tone. ‘Now go back to your mother and stay there till I return.’

Merlin shuffled his feet, fighting against his apprehension.

‘No,’ he said, straightening his back. ‘I won’t. Not till you listen to me.’

Balinor paused and slowly straightened up, his arms coming down to rest by his side.

Merlin swallowed.

‘Careful, lad,’ Balinor said softly. ‘I’m in no mood for this now. For your own sake, please go back inside. I have made up my mind in this and it’s not up for discussion.’

‘But you’re _wrong_!’ Merlin said. ‘What has Arthur ever done to you? It’s his _father_ that you are angry at! That’s nothing to do with him! He’s nothing _like_ his father!’

‘And I suppose you’d know, would you?’ said Balinor. ‘What with you being all fancy and moving to London and all? Normal folks not good enough for you, is that it, now you are all cosy-like with those wretched Pendragons?’

Merlin recoiled, stung. He stared at his father in shock.

‘Da …’ he said, eyes wide. ‘It’s not like that at – why are you being like this?’

Balinor scowled and turned away.

‘I told you to go back inside, Merlin,’ he said wearily. ‘Go inside and say goodbye to your friend. Give me a moment to calm down. When he’s gone, you and I will talk about this reasonably. Okay?’

But Merlin wasn’t so easily put off.

‘No,’ he said, shaking his head. ‘No, I won’t let him leave like that. It’s not _fair_ , da. He didn’t _do_ anything. He’s being punished for no reason!’

Balinor pointed at the house, a clear order to go.

‘At least let him stay for a few more hours,’ Merlin pleaded. ‘Until it’s time for the train. You _know_ there’s nothing till evening time! He probably doesn’t even remember the way to the station!’

‘That’s not my concern,’ Balinor said. ‘And now it’s none of yours either.’

Merlin bristled.

‘Of _course_ it’s my concern!’ he protested. ‘He’s my _friend_! He’s here by my invitation! I can’t just – da, you _know_ this is wrong!’

‘He is _not_ your friend!’ Balinor said tightly, turning around to glare at his son. ‘He’s a Pendragon. They don’t have friends.’

‘This one does,’ Merlin said with conviction.

‘Not any more,’ Balinor said. ‘You’re going into that house and saying goodbye to that boy and then you are going to have nothing to do with him ever again, do you understand?’

Merlin stared.

‘But – but what about my job?’ he protested.

‘Quit,’ Balinor said bluntly. 

‘I can’t _quit_!’ Merlin shouted, appalled.

But Balinor wouldn’t hear it.

‘I will _not_ have my son working with such people!’ he thundered. ‘No son of mine will work for a blasted _Pendragon_!’

‘Well you will just have to learn to accept it,’ Merlin said stoutly, even as he trembled inside. ‘Because I am _not_ quitting.’

‘Merlin …’ Balinor said warningly.

‘I’m sorry da,’ Merlin said grimly. ‘But you are blinded by your anger. Arthur is my friend and that _means_ something to me, even if it doesn’t to you.’ He took a deep breath, suddenly making his mind up on the spot. ‘And if you make him leave now, then – then _I_ am going with him.’

Balinor stared.

‘What?’ he asked flatly, clearly not believing his ears.

‘Arthur’s all alone,’ Merlin said quietly. ‘He’s probably got no clue where the station here is and he’s barely ever travelled by train. He’s probably all shaken up by – by what happened in the kitchen, and all. I need to go with him, da.’ He shrugged. ‘Besides, he will be wanting me back at work as soon as possible, I should think.’

It was only when Merlin looked back up that he saw the thunderous look on Balinor’s face.

‘No,’ Balinor said quietly.

Merlin blinked.

‘Da?’ he asked, apprehensive.

‘I said no,’ Balinor’s tone was cold, final. ‘You are not going anywhere with that boy, Merlin. I forbid it.’

Merlin couldn’t keep his hackles from rising.

‘You _forbid_ it?’ he repeated, disbelieving. ‘Da, that’s just - I’m going!’

‘No you are most certainly not!’ Balinor suddenly roared, causing Merlin to almost jump out of his skin. The chickens, who were most horribly upset by the sudden sound, immediately started running around in circles.

But Merlin, although scared and completely at a loss at what was happening, was determined.

‘I’m going da,’ he said, his voice only betraying the smallest tremor. ‘I have a job, and Arthur is my friend. I have a duty to both and that is all that matters. I’m sorry you don’t like it, da, but I am going.’

And with that, he turned on his heel and marched into the house, leaving his father standing there stunned.

It didn’t take long for Balinor to recover though as Merlin had barely stepped into the house when he heard a bellow and the tramp of angry footsteps behind him.

‘Don’t you _dare_!’ Balinor was saying. ‘I absolutely _forbid_ this Merlin!’

But Merlin ignored him and headed for the kitchen.

Their clatter brought Hunith and Mordred running into the room.

‘What is it?’ Hunith asked anxiously, glancing between her husband and her eldest son. ‘What’s going on?’

‘Where’s Arthur?’ Merlin asked quickly before Balinor could say anything.

‘He’s gone,’ Hunith answered, her eyes flicking over to her husband. ‘He left not a minute ago.’

‘I’d better hurry then,’ Merlin said grimly, heading for the stairs.

‘Don’t you bloody move!’ Balinor shouted, causing Merlin to freeze and Mordred and Hunith to jump. Balinor had never sworn at one of them before.

‘Bally!’ Hunith stared at him in shock.

Balinor, though, only had eyes for his eldest son.

‘I’m warning you, Merlin,’ he said in a dangerous tone. ‘Don’t push me on this. You just come down those stairs now like a good lad and we will forget all about this.’

Merlin hesitated.

‘Merlin …’ Balinor said warningly.

Merlin swallowed and straightened his spine.

‘I’m sorry da,’ he said almost apologetically. ‘But I’m old enough to make my own decisions. I’m going to do this, whether you want me to or not.’

Balinor seemed to snap.

‘Merlin!’ he shouted, anger infusing his every syllable. ‘You listen to me! You come down here _this instant_ or, or-’

Merlin cocked his head.

‘Or?’ he couldn’t help asking.

Balinor’s eyes narrowed.

‘You come down here this instant,’ he said, his voice suddenly quiet and emotionless. ‘And you stay here like a _good_ and _obedient_ son _or_ – if you walk out that door – you had best be prepared to never come back here again.’

There was silence. Then there was a loud gasp.

‘Bally!’ Hunith’s eyes were wide and fearful. ‘Oh Bally, no! What are you saying?’

‘I’m saying what needs to be said,’ Balinor said coldly, his eyes still fixed upon Merlin’s wide blue ones. ‘I’m saying what will happen if that boy of yours sets foot outside of this door.’

‘Da-’ Mordred began but Balinor flung his arm out, halting him.

‘Quiet Mordred, this is none of your concern,’ he said coldly.

Mordred’s face immediately went blank and he stepped back, emotionlessly.

Merlin was still trying to process his father’s words.

‘Da,’ he said pleadingly, his heart high in his throat. ‘Surely you don’t mean that … surely you are just being-’

‘I meant what I said,’ Balinor said, unmoving. ‘If you leave this house then you don’t bother returning.’

Merlin swallowed. Slowly, he turned to look from his mother to his brother. Then his eyes flitted over to the position where Arthur had been standing mere minutes before, a look of helplessness on his face.

He swallowed again. When his eyes met his mother’s once again, he knew seeing the look in her eyes that she already knew what his decision would be.

Holding his head high, his hands clasping the banister to stop them from shaking, he turned to his father.

‘I’m sorry you feel that way, da,’ he said, attempting composure but was betrayed by the tremor in his voice. ‘I really am. But I – I think that it is best if I go.’

He turned and continued back up the stairs. Once he reached the top and turned the corner, he had to stop. He couldn't believe he’d just done that. He couldn't believe his father had thrown him out. Downstairs there was a not a sound, and Merlin just tried to breathe.

The silence didn’t last for long though.

‘Hunith!’ Balinor suddenly roared, his voice carrying. ‘Hunith, this is all your fault!’

‘How is this _my_ fault?’ Hunith snapped back, an anger in her voice that Merlin had never heard before. ‘ _You’re_ the one that threw his guest out _and_ gave him a bloody ultimatum! And now see what’s happened. _Mae'r dyn yn dwpsyn_.’

‘Oh don’t you go calling _me_ an idiot,’ Balinor shouted. ‘ _You’re_ the one that started this whole thing – encouraging the boy to go to London and stay with your Uncle Gaius – I _knew_ this would happen. That man has _always_ been trouble.’

‘He’s been nothing of the sort!’ Hunith scoffed. ‘Now stop being _unreasonable_ Balinor and go up there and apologise to your son!’

‘Apologise?’ Balinor’s voice rose. ‘ _He_ should apologise to _me_! I would never have _dared_ treat my father in such a way when I was his age. I _told_ him that I was serious about this and yet he still disobeys me! We both know where he gets _that_ from!’

‘Bally, he’s our _son_ ,’ Hunith said, exasperated. ‘He’s _Merlin_ , your own boy. Don’t do this, love – don’t act in this way.’

‘No,’ Balinor snapped. ‘My decision is final. If he leaves here to go with that _Pendragon_ boy, then he had better believe that he won’t be coming back here. That is all.’

Merlin couldn’t help the pained gasp that escaped him at that. He shut his eyes and turned away, only to open them again at the sound of his mother speaking.

‘Bally,’ Hunith said, her voice quiet but clear. ‘If you do this then I’m not sure that I will be able to forgive you.’

Merlin couldn’t listen any more. It was one thing for him and his father to fall out, but it was a wholly different thing to have his mother and father fight. He couldn’t take it any more. His heart in his throat, Merlin turned away and quickly slipped off to his room. He had packing to do.

  


  
*****  


Merlin was busy shovelling clothes and other odds and ends into a bag when there was a soft knock on the door.

‘Come in,’ Merlin straightened, expecting his mother.

Instead of Hunith however, it was Mordred who entered.

‘Oh,’ Merlin said, surprised. ‘Mordred.’

Mordred nodded. ‘Ma’s in the kitchen. Dad’s upset her.’

Merlin nodded, looking down at his bag.

‘He seems to be doing that a lot, doesn’t he now?’ Merlin said evenly, not meeting his brother’s eyes.

Mordred was silent for a moment. Then, before Merlin knew what was happening, Mordred was a heavy weight against him, his face against Merlin’s shoulder and his hands clenched in his shirt.

‘Don’t go,’ Mordred said, his voice quiet. He reached out a pale hand to clasp Merlin around the wrist. ‘Merlin – don’t leave.’

Merlin stilled. He looked down to where Mordred’s hand clasped his own and swallowed.

‘Mordred,’ he said heavily. ‘Mordred, I – I can’t.’

‘Then take me with you!’ Mordred said, not missing a beat. ‘Let me go with you! Take me to London. I won’t be a bother, I promise!’

Merlin sighed. He pulled away from his packing and turned to fully face his brother.

‘Mordred,’ he said sadly. ‘Morrie, you know that’s not possible.’

Mordred ducked his head at his brother’s use of his childhood nickname.

‘Why not?’ he asked in a subdued voice.

Merlin’s heart clenched and he rubbed a hand over his face.

‘You know why,’ he said quietly. ‘It’s bad enough that I am leaving – do you really think mam and da would stand for it if you went away too?’

‘Why not, they are allowing _you_ to go,’ Mordred said mulishly.

‘ _Morrie_ ,’ Merlin reproached him.

‘ _Merrie_ ,’ Mordred answered in the exact same tone.

Merlin tried to look disapproving but he could not prevent the hint of a smile that tugged up the corner of his mouth at Mordred’s use of that old name. 

He gave a dry laugh.

‘Da had better watch out,’ he said wryly. ‘I see you are entering your rebellious phase.’

Mordred smirked at that but he quickly became solemn again.

‘Won’t you take me?’ he asked again, his tone now mournful.

Merlin lowered his hands to rest on his brother’s shoulders.

‘‘Fraid not, Morrie,’ he said, giving Mordred a rueful smile. 

Mordred sighed. ‘Thought not,’ he said glumly.

‘Maybe when you’re older, eh?’ Merlin said encouragingly.

Mordred gave him a Look.

‘Never mind,’ Merlin said with a laugh. Reaching out, he fondly ruffled Mordred’s hair. Mordred pretended to scowl but the way he leaned into the touch spoke of a completely different reaction to his brother’s affectionate caress.

‘Help me pack?’ Merlin asked after a moment.

Mordred nodded.

Fifteen minutes later, Merlin was completely packed up and was back downstairs, saying goodbye to his mother and brother.

‘Don’t worry, now,’ he said bravely, hugging his mother tightly to his chest. ‘I’ll be with Arthur and Uncle Gaius. It’ll all be just as it was before, you’ll see.’

‘I know, love,’ Hunith murmured, clutching back at him just as fiercely. ‘I know, _cariad_. It’ll be all right.’

Smiling through his teary eyes, Merlin nodded and then gently extricated himself from his mother’s embrace. Wiping at his face, Merlin turned and enveloped Mordred in a tight hug.

‘Take care of mam, you hear?’ he asked Mordred, gripping him tightly. 

He felt Mordred’s nod against his shoulder, and Merlin reluctantly pulled himself away.

‘Where – where’s da?’ he asked, his voice slightly strangled.

Hunith and Mordred looked at each other.

‘He – he’s in the barn,’ Hunith said, trying to smile even though she was clearly very upset. ‘He’s – I don’t think he’s coming out, love.’

‘Oh,’ Merlin said, stopping. He swallowed and tried to hide his dismay so as to not upset his mother. ‘Oh. Oh right. Yes, I – I understand. Will you – will you tell him that I’m sorry? And that – that I don’t blame him?’

Hunith gave him a watery smile.

‘Of course, love,’ she said tenderly. Then she wiped her face and straightened her back. ‘Now, I think that poor boy Arthur has been waiting for long enough by his lonesome, don’t you think?’

Merlin choked out a laugh at that.

‘Yes, yes, I suppose so,’ he said. ‘I had best go and find him, I should think.’

‘Yes,’ Hunith said clutching her son’s shoulders affectionately. ‘Yes, you should.’

And, after one more round of embraces, Merlin took a deep breath, and stepped outside the door.

  


  
*****  


Arthur was sitting in the middle of the road. He had vaguely remembered the route starting from the Emrys farm and so had set off in the correct direction. However, roughly fifteen minutes into his walk he had come up against a fork in the road and didn’t remember which path to take. Both roads were surrounded by fields and to him, all fields looked the same.

And so, tired from dragging his heavy cases all by himself, still somewhat hungry from not having finished supper, and rather sick at heart at the revelations that had occurred shortly after, he had decided that he really could not bring himself to care very much and had petulantly set himself down in the road, sprawled out with his cases strewn around him. 

He knew that he would have to get up and attempt one of the roads sooner or later if he wanted to make the evening train, but right now he just felt fed up with everything. He was glad that no one else was around – he wouldn’t want anyone to see him like this, acting like some sort of hysterical child. He would be laughed out of house and home. He would probably be sent to some quack doctor for therapy like some sort of bored housewife. He would-

‘Fancy seeing you here.’

Arthur, rudely shaken out of his thoughts, twisted his whole body around in surprise. He blinked and for a moment thought that he was hallucinating.

‘Merlin?’ he asked in disbelief.

Merlin smiled and gave him an awkward little wave.

‘Er - surprise?’

Arthur blinked. Then:

‘Merlin!’ he yelped, struggling to his feet. ‘What on earth are you _doing_ here?’

‘Er – joining you?’ Merlin asked, hefting the bag in his hand.

Arthur just stared at him.

‘You’re – _joining_ me?’ he demanded, disbelieving. ‘You - you’re coming back to London with me?’ He eyed the other bags that Merlin was carrying. ‘To _stay_?’

Merlin rolled his eyes.

‘It _does_ look that way, doesn’t it?’ he remarked dryly.

‘But – but _why_?’ Arthur demanded, confused. ‘Didn’t you hear what my father did to your family? Didn’t _your_ father get angry when you told him you were coming with me? Merlin – what-’

‘I wanted to,’ Merlin said quickly. ‘And what your father did – I hate it and I’m mad that he did that to us, but – but I know that you’re not your father and that you would never do anything like that to anyone, so …’ he took a breath. ‘So I really don’t think what happened all those years ago has anything to do with _us_.’

Arthur looked at him for a moment. 

‘I doubt your father felt the same way,’ he said shrewdly, and his guess was confirmed the moment two patches of red appeared on Merlin’s cheeks. ‘Merlin?’ he prompted when Merlin didn’t say anything.

Merlin sighed.

‘You’re right,’ he said reluctantly. ‘He wasn’t happy.’

Arthur raised an eyebrow when Merlin didn’t say anything further.

‘And?’ he prompted.

Merlin squirmed.

‘And nothing,’ he said, avoiding eye contact, flush still high on his cheeks.

Arthur was tempted to reach into his bag and pull out his camera but he forcibly restrained himself. 

‘Somehow I don’t think that’s quite the whole truth,’ he said instead.

Merlin scowled. ‘I’d rather not talk about it,’ he said crossly.

Arthur studied him for a moment more, his eyes sliding from Merlin’s pained expression to his bulging suitcase and bags, before nodding.

‘All right,’ he said. ‘We don’t need to then.’

Merlin’s eyes flicked over to Arthur’s face, expression almost suspicious.

‘Okay,’ he said after a moment. Then: ‘One question though.’ He paused as Arthur cocked his head to the side and gestured for him to continue. ‘Why exactly were you sitting down on your backside in the middle of the road?’

Arthur immediately turned away and scowled.

‘Never you mind,’ he said, and Merlin grinned. Arthur was hard pressed not to return it. It was like their usual banter was chasing away the wretchedness of the last few hours. Arthur was more than ready for it to go and stay gone.

‘You were lost, weren’t you?’ Merlin said cheekily.

‘ _No_ , _Mer_ lin, of course I wasn’t _lost_ ,’ Arthur huffed. ‘I was just – tired. These bags are heavy, you know.’

Merlin raised an eyebrow and glanced down pointedly at his own baggage.

‘I’m _terribly_ sorry for you, of course,’ he said, rolling his eyes. ‘What with you having to carry your own luggage and everything. Must be a novel experience for you, not having a butler around to do it for you.’

Arthur turned and raised his eyebrow at Merlin.

‘Really?’ he demanded. ‘You’re _still_ going on about that? You’ve _been_ to my house, for goodness sakes, you _know_ that my life is completely normal. I haven’t had a butler in _years_!’

Now it was Merlin’s turn to raise an eyebrow.

Arthur scowled.

‘Oh shut up,’ he grumbled. ‘Now hurry up and show me the way to the station.’

‘I _knew_ you were lost!’

‘What did I say about shutting up, _Mer_ lin?’

Merlin smiled and, without another word, picked up his bags and started walking.

Arthur watched him silently for a moment before sighing and reaching down to pick up his own bags. Then, with one last look at the bare, empty fields around him, he turned on his heels and walked after Merlin.

  


  
*****  


_Rinnnnnnng!_

Arthur glanced up from the prints that he had been scrutinising and frowned at the telephone sitting on the desk. Their usual secretary had taken the day off and Merlin, who was the one supposed to cover the desk today, was nowhere to be seen. Sighing exasperatedly, Arthur pulled himself off the table he had been sitting on and made his way over to the desk. With a sigh, he pulled the cigarette away from his mouth and picked up the receiver.

‘Yeah?’ he asked, still looking at the prints clutched in his hands.

‘Arthur?’

Arthur stilled. Slowly, he pulled away from the photographs and, drawing the cigarette back to his mouth with a shaky hand, turned his attention fully on to the phone.

‘Morgana?’ he said evenly, unconsciously straightening up.

He could practically see his sister’s smile through the phone.

‘Hello Arthur,’ she said warmly. ‘It’s been a while.’

‘Yeah,’ Arthur said, leaning back against the desk and running his hand through his hair. ‘It has.’

‘You can leave the accusing tone out of this,’ his sister sniffed. ‘Communication is a two-way street, after all. I may not have called but _you_ didn’t either.’

‘Perhaps _you_ don’t remember Father telling me to never call him again, but _I_ most certainly do.’

‘You know Uther didn’t mean that,’ Morgana said reproachfully. ‘You _were_ telling him that his magazine was nothing more than overly expensive trash for the intellectually challenged at the time.’

‘True,’ Arthur acknowledged.

‘And just because Uther threw a little hissy-fit and forbade you from contacting him, doesn’t mean that I didn’t want you to call _me_ either. Though I _do_ rather resent the implication that the magazine that I have spent the majority of my life working on and sweating blood for is worth so little in your eyes, dear brother.’

‘Morgana dear, you are more than mistaken. It wasn’t an implication, it was a statement of fact.’

Morgana snorted.

‘Don’t worry, I have no illusions about what I do,’ she told him. ‘But that doesn’t mean that I don’t enjoy it, and that it doesn’t take a lot of hard work.’

‘I never said that it didn’t,’ Arthur said diplomatically.

‘Well then,’ Morgana said, mollified. ‘I have no quarrel with you. How are you?’

‘I’m … well enough, I suppose,’ Arthur said, scratching his head. You?’

‘Wonderful as always, thank you.’

‘And Father?’

‘Uther’s … Uther,’ Morgana said easily. ‘As stern and bad tempered as ever.’

‘Why am I not surprised,’ Arthur said wryly. He sighed. ‘So – why are you calling, Morgana?’

‘Can’t a sister just want to talk to her dear little brother?’

‘Yes, but _you_ can’t.’

‘Fair enough,’ Morgana’s grin practically travelled down the telephone line. ‘Something’s come up. We need to talk.’

Arthur was instantly put on his guard.

‘…Yes?’ he said warily.

‘ _Camelot_ ’s undergoing a bit of a shuffle,’ Morgana said smoothly. ‘Uther wants to shake things up a bit. Get the magazine to appeal to a whole new demographic.’

‘And by “Uther” you really mean “you”, don’t you?’

‘Naturally. You know how allergic to change Uther is. It’s already taken us the best part of three years to convince him to update _Camelot_ ’s image. Her Majesty ended debutante presentations almost _four years ago_ now.’

‘If I didn’t love Her Royal Highness as an Englishman and as a somewhat-distant relation, then I would love her just for that,’ Arthur muttered.

‘You’re not the only one, darling,’ Morgana drawled. ‘I only wish that she had done it sooner. It’s been an absolute _age_ since my presentation but I still remember every last ghastly detail of it.’

‘You can thank Father for that,’ Arthur smirked.

‘It’s true, I wouldn’t have done it if it weren’t for him,’ Morgana mused. ‘But at least he didn’t force me to go to too many of those dreadful soirees, or expect me to get married by the end of the year. But I must admit that, looking back, it was the right thing to have done, even if my seventeen-year-old self would hate to admit it. Debutantes still demand a great deal of respect, even today.’

‘How else would you be selling that magazine of yours if it weren’t?’ Arthur said with a quirk of his eyebrow.

‘That magazine of _ours_ , darling, _ours_. Don’t forget that you stand to inherit a portion of the company when Uther’s six feet under.’

‘You speak of Father’s death with almost alarming enthusiasm,’ Arthur said dryly. ‘And here I was, thinking that you were the golden child of the family.’

Morgana made an impatient noise.

‘We both know that that’s far from the truth,’ she said snippily. ‘But we can’t all rebel so very enthusiastically like you did, Arthur. Someone has to look after the company and the family name, after all.’

‘How terribly noble of you.’

‘I wouldn’t want Uther to have deal with all that on his own …’

‘Very good of you, I’m sure. Say that with a bit more conviction next time; I almost believed that you had no secret ambitions or ulterior motives there.’

Morgana let out a surprised burst of laughter.

‘Oh Arthur!’ she said fondly. ‘I have missed you!’

Arthur couldn’t help but smile at that.

‘I’ve missed you too, Morgs,’ he said warmly. ‘More than you know.’

‘I should hope so,’ Morgana said, but her voice was thick with feeling. Then abruptly, she cleared her throat and the moment was gone. ‘Now, onto business.’

‘If we must,’ Arthur said warily.

‘As I was saying,’ Morgana said, ignoring him. ‘We’re looking to shake things up at _Camelot_. Bring in newer, more exciting young talent.’ She paused. ‘And we hope that you will be one of them.’

Arthur blinked. He turned and looked at his phone dumbly before placing it back against his ear.

‘I beg your pardon?’ he said. ‘I thought I just heard you say that you wanted me to come and work for _Camelot_.’

‘That’s because I did.’

‘Let me rephrase that,’ Arthur said, rubbing at his head dazedly. ‘You want _me_ to come and work for my _father, Uther Pendragon_ at _Camelot_?’

‘Yes.’

‘Doing what exactly?’

‘The same thing you are doing now,’ Morgana said smoothly. ‘Photography.’

Arthur’s eyes widened. He had assumed that this was just another attempt by his father to get him back under his thumb.

‘And Father’s all right with that?’ he demanded, disbelieving.

‘More than all right,’ Morgana confirmed. ‘In fact, he’s the one that suggested it.’

Arthur slumped back against the desk.

‘Now that I don’t believe,’ he said after a moment.

‘All right, so I may have encouraged him to suggest it,’ Morgana admitted without an ounce of contrition in her voice. ‘But he did eventually, and that’s what counts, don’t you agree?’

‘I suppose,’ Arthur said doubtfully.

‘Well there you are then,’ Morgana said.

Arthur paused a moment to digest this.

‘So that’s what this is about?’ he said slowly. ‘This phone call. It’s a job offer?’

‘Oh Arthur,’ Morgana sighed. ‘Of course it’s not just a phone call. Do you really think that we would be asking you this if we didn’t miss you so very much? That is why Uther is making you this offer, even if he won’t admit it. He misses you, Arthur. We both do.’

‘Hmm,’ Arthur acknowledged, feeling slightly awkward at the uncharacteristic show of emotion from his sister. ‘Yes well … you know … I mean, I-’

‘Yes, yes we know, you feel the same,’ Morgana laughed. ‘Honestly, you men and your emotions. You’re almost as bad as Uther.’

‘Oh believe me,’ Arthur said firmly, thinking back to what he had learnt at the Emrys family residence. ‘I’m really, really not.’

‘Hmm,’ Morgana hummed non-committal. ‘If you say so, dear. Now – what do you think?’

‘About what?’

‘The job, Arthur, keep up!’

Arthur sighed.

‘Well it’s not as if I can tell you right now,’ he said impatiently. ‘I don’t know nearly enough about what you expect me to do or if this even appeals to me.’

‘All minor details,’ Morgana said carelessly. ‘We’ll get around to them shortly. But - should you find everything to your satisfaction – you will consider it, yes?’

‘Er-’ Arthur opened and closed his mouth a few times. ‘Well – yes. I suppose so. Why not? As long as I don’t have to deal with Father.’

‘Wonderful!’ Morgana said warmly. ‘You’ll need to come in to the offices as soon as possible, of course. Is tomorrow convenient for you?’

‘Let’s make it the day after,’ Arthur suggested. ‘That will give me time to rearrange my schedule.’

Morgana snorted.

‘Or have your assistant do it, rather,’ she laughed.

Now it was Arthur’s turn to snort.

‘Merlin? No, I don’t think I would risk it. I’d probably have a bunch of angry clients waiting when I returned. I think it’s much safer to do it myself.’

‘He sounds awful,’ Morgana commiserated ‘Why haven’t you fired him yet?’

‘What? Oh no!’ Arthur quickly shook his head, even though he knew that Morgana wouldn’t be able to see him do so. ‘No, I couldn- I mean, he’s not completely useless, I suppose.’

‘Hmm,’ Morgana’s hum was thoughtful. ‘If you say so.’ Then she laughed. ‘My, Arthur, you have changed! Not only are you being patient with your underlings, but you are actually electing to do paperwork! What can possibly have triggered this transformation?’

Arthur scowled.

‘Never you mind,’ he said. ‘What time Thursday?’

‘10am?’

‘No, I’d prefer after lunch. That way no one can coerce me into dining with you and father.’

‘You flatter yourself, darling. How’s 2pm for you?’

‘It’s manageable.’

‘Perfect.’

‘Right,’ Arthur said after an awkward moment. ‘…Is that all then?’

‘Well there was this fabulous little article in last month’s issue regarding the diminishing popularity of ostrich feathers …’

‘That’s all,’ Arthur said quickly. He paused. ‘I’ll see you Thursday then?’ His voice came out a great deal more tentative than he had meant it to.

‘Yes,’ Morgana answered him, her tone soft. ‘You will. I look forward to it. It’s been too long, Arthur.’

‘It has,’ Arthur agreed. Then, more softly: ‘Goodbye Morgana.’

‘Goodbye Arthur.’

_Click._

  


  
*****  


Two days later, Arthur showed up at the large, elegant building that housed the offices and studios of _Camelot_ magazine, run under the stern and watchful eye of Sir Uther Pendragon, legendary CEO and publishing magnate, equally feared and respected by all who knew him.

Arthur was intimately familiar with this building, having spent a good deal of his childhood wandering these halls, first whilst hand in hand with his mother and later while under the watchful eyes of one of several nannies or one of Uther’s personal assistants. He had only been here approximately once or twice on his own, though, and not at all since he had turned eighteen. It was rather an odd experience for him. He wasn’t sure he liked it very much.

He was loitering in the lobby when a very prim and proper woman approached him.

‘Can I help you, young man?’ she asked, looking severely through her glasses at him. Arthur could tell, from the way that her nostrils flared, that she clearly didn’t think much of him and he smiled grimly to himself. He had deliberately dressed down, wearing a pair of jeans and a white shirt with the first two buttons open; Uther had always been impossibly strict about having ones buttons done up to the collar.

‘Yes, I’m here to see Uther Pendragon,’ he said, flashing the woman a charming smile.

The woman looked him up and down before sniffing.

‘I’m afraid that _Sir_ Uther doesn’t carry out interviews with the models himself,’ she said coldly, giving Arthur a dirty look as if disgusted that he should think himself important enough to warrant a meeting with her lord and master. ‘If you wait here I will ask one of the _junior_ assistants to-’

‘My lord!’

The woman immediately whirled around, as if expecting to see Uther suddenly appear out of nowhere. She frowned when she did not see him anywhere and turned to look at the newcomer. She straightened up when she saw who was approaching her.

‘Oh Mr. Butler,’ she said. ‘I’m afraid that Sir Uther is not here – isn’t he in his office?’

The man – Mr. Butler – gave the woman a careless glance.

‘I was not referring to _Sir Uther_ Pendragon, Miss Tragor,’ he said coolly. ‘I was addressing Lord Arthur here.’

‘Lord … Arthur,’ Miss Tragor repeated, blinking. ‘ _Lord_ Arthur … _Pendragon_?’ She cast a horrified look at Arthur.

‘It’s a pleasure to meet you,’ Arthur said smoothly, a smug smile sliding over his face. ‘Miss … Tragor was it?’

The woman swallowed.

‘It is my _deepest_ pleasure to meet you, Lord Arthur,’ the man cut in, going so far as to cut Arthur a bow. ‘I have had the honour of hearing much about you. ’

‘Oh?’ Arthur asked apprehensively.

‘George Butler, at your service. I have the privilege of being the personal assistant to your sister, Lady Morgana,’ Mr. Butler said with another half-bow.

‘Half the things she says aren’t true!’ Arthur blurted out before quickly reining himself in. ‘I mean – Morgana has a way of making things more … colourful than they really are.’

‘Undoubtedly, sir,’ Mr. Butler nodded, deferent. ‘Now, I’ve been sent down to welcome you, if would you like me to show you the way.’

‘By all means,’ Arthur smiled. ‘Lead the way, Mr. Butler.’

‘If you please, my lord,’ the man said feelingly. ‘The name is George.’

‘Oh.’ Arthur paused. ‘Then lead the way, George!’

George beamed.

‘Thank you sir,’ he said, and Arthur was astonished to see that the man was being completely serious and genuine in his thanks. What had his sister done to this poor creature?

‘If I may be so bold, sir,’ George said as they made their way up the building in the lift. ‘May I say that it is _hugely_ gratifying to be able to see the entire Pendragon dynasty under one roof?’

Arthur, having absolutely nothing to say to that, gave George an awkward twitch of a smile. It seemed to be more than enough, as George rode the rest of the way in the lift with an expression of perfect contentedness. 

Arthur took in the hustle and bustle of the magazine’s employees with great interest as he and George strode through the corridors, passing men in smart grey suits chatting to pretty young secretaries on their lunch break. Several of these young women gave Arthur appreciative looks, earning scowls from the other men. Arthur couldn’t help but smirk; he had almost forgotten how it felt to be lusted after. He had obviously spent far too much time in Merlin’s company. Arthur mentally made a note to ask one of the young secretaries to dinner later; it wouldn’t do to lose his touch, after all.

‘Here we are, my lord,’ George said abruptly and Arthur snapped back to attention to find himself outside a door with a name in clearly-printed gold leaf, declaring this to be the room of

  


**Morgana Pendragon-LeFay**  


  


**Vice-President**  


  


With a glance at Arthur, George stepped forward and opened the door. Inside was a spacious room with a very tidy, functional-looking desk to the right and a comfortable-looking sofa to the left. Behind this, was an even more elaborate set of doors, which George ushered Arthur towards.

‘She’s expecting you,’ George whispered, before smartly rapping on the door with his knuckles.

‘Come in!’ called a familiar voice.

George immediately opened the door and stepped inside. 

‘Lord Arthur Pendragon here to see you, Lady Morgana,’ George said, standing to attention.

‘Thank you, George,’ Morgana smiled from where she was perched behind her desk. ‘That will be all for now.’

George gave a quick obedient nod to Morgana before turning and doing the same to Arthur and then left, closing the door behind him.

‘Arthur!’ Morgana beamed, finally getting to her feet. She moved out from behind her desk and came forward, her arms out, ready to embrace her brother. ‘It’s been too long!’ She clasped Arthur by the arms and leaned forward to gently brush a kiss against each of his cheeks. ‘I’m glad that you were able to make it.’

‘I said that I would,’ Arthur said, dutifully returning Morgana’s tokens of affection. ‘And I don’t doubt that you would have had me hunted down and shot had I not attended. Probably by dear old George back there.’

Morgana beamed.

‘What did you think of him?’ she asked eagerly. ‘Isn’t he an absolute _dear_?’ she sighed, leaning back against her desk and pulling out a cigarette. ‘I must confess, I’m quite taken with him – such a dutiful, hard-working soul.’

‘And I’m sure you consider it your duty to corrupt him,’ Arthur said dryly, accepting the cigarette proffered by his sister. He reach into his pocket and first lit Morgana’s before lighting his own. ‘Where on earth did you find him?’

‘Lord knows,’ Morgana shrugged carelessly. ‘He was one of Uther’s. Mine was off sick one day and he filled in. I just … never gave him back. He’s been mine ever since.’ She took a long drag of her cigarette and glared reproachfully at Arthur. ‘And I would _never_ corrupt him. Do you know how long it has taken me to find the perfect assistant? He never takes sick days, never asks questions, and does whatever you ask of him. I didn’t have to so much as lift a finger to train him.’

‘Hmm,’ Arthur hummed, once again put in mind of Merlin and marvelling at how completely unlike George he was. Which Arthur was strangely grateful for. ‘Well, don’t take too much advantage of him.’

‘Oh he loves it,’ Morgana waved a dismissive hand. ‘The man literally lives to serve. I know – he told me!’

Arthur snorted. From what he had seen of George, he wasn’t surprised.

‘So this job offer,’ he began, coming forward to sit in the chair in front of Morgana. ‘Tell me a bit more about it.’

Morgana sighed before hopping up on her desk and making herself comfortable.

‘ _Camelot_ is losing readers,’ she said bluntly, staring Arthur straight in the eyes. ‘Uther waves it off as being a normal slump that will soon level out but I think different.’ She paused for effect. ‘I think we’re losing readers because we’re becoming old fashioned.’

Arthur snorted.

‘You’re realising this now?’ he drawled. ‘You only needed to ask me and I would have told you this years ago.’

Morgana scowled.

‘This is no laughing matter, Arthur,’ she snapped. ‘Or have you forgotten that your father’s entire legacy rests on the magazine?’

‘I haven’t forgotten,’ Arthur said stiffly. ‘It’s rather hard to, considering.’

Morgana immediately looked contrite.

‘I’m sorry Arthur,’ she sighed. ‘I know how you feel about _Camelot_ and Uther … But Arthur – I _love_ this magazine. I honestly do. I don’t know what I would do without it.’

Arthur grimaced.

‘Yes, I know,’ he muttered. ‘But how am I supposed to help with this?’

‘We need to be edgier,’ Morgana said immediately. ‘We need to make our mark. We need photos that stand out. It’s not just about fashion any more, Arthur. It’s about _art_. And I think, of all the photographers that I have ever met – and there have been quite a few, let me tell you – I think that you are perhaps the only one that I can really trust to understand what we need. I think that, by having you on board, we can not just make _Camelot_ more successful, but that we can change things. Everywhere.’

She paused after that speech and waited for Arthur to respond.

Arthur sat in his chair, cigarette between his teeth, regarding Morgana thoughtfully.

‘You honestly believe this?’ he asked at last.

‘Absolutely,’ Morgana said stoutly. ‘Every single word.’

‘Hmm,’ Arthur lapsed into thought. Then: ‘What does Uther think?’ he asked sharply.

Morgana avoided his eyes.

‘Morgana …’ Arthur said warningly.

Morgana pouted but turned to face him anyway.

‘He doesn’t see the same potential in photography that I – that we do,’ she said reluctantly. ‘He’s willing to give your photos a try but he doesn’t seem to believe that one photograph can be so very different from another. He doesn’t realise that I am trying to initiate a complete upheaval at _Camelot_.’

‘He won’t be pleased when he finds out,’ Arthur warned.

Morgana just gazed back at him steadily, then shrugged.

‘I know,’ she said. ‘But he’s blinded by his narrow vision and his hold on the past. I, for one, will not let _Camelot_ go down just because one man refuses to let go.’ She let out a breath. ‘But I’m hoping that – if I implement the changes gradually enough – he won’t catch on until it’s too late.’

‘Good luck with that!’ Arthur snorted.

Morgana fidgeted.

‘Also…’ she said, making Arthur glance at her suspiciously. ‘I was rather hoping that you would use this job as a chance to … influence Uther a bit. You know – help him embrace the modern world.’

But Arthur was shaking his head.

‘I don’t know what you were thinking,’ he said. ‘But this is _Father_ that we’re talking about. When has he ever changed his mind on anything? And – more precisely – when has he ever listened to anything that _I_ have had to say?’

‘He values your opinion, Arthur,’ Morgana said patiently. ‘He’s always been proud of you and your ability to stand up for what you believe in. And while he may disapprove of your chosen profession, he admires you for doing what you did and for getting where you are on your own merit. He respects you for it, Arthur.’

And for a moment, Arthur almost believed her. Then reality hit him and he remembered what his father was really like.

‘Nice try Morgana,’ he said, trying to pass the comment off as snide when in reality it was just unhappy resignation. ‘But it appears that I am not as desperate for Father’s approval as all that. Last time I checked, you were the one pandering to his every desire.’

Morgana sighed.

‘Arthur,’ she said wearily. ‘I know you resent me for not making more of a stand and for not rebelling the way you did-’

‘That’s not-’ Arthur protested but Morgana spoke over him.

‘But as I have told you before – it’s different for me than it is for you. Whatever everyone thinks and feels, Uther and Igraine are not my real parents and this is something that I have _always_ been aware of – more than you can ever know. It was nothing they said or did – it was just there, an innate knowledge. Perhaps if I was too young to remember my true parents then things would have been different, but I wasn’t. And so every single one of my decisions has been coloured by that fact – by that fear …’

Arthur was looking at Morgana with an odd expression on his face.

‘So what are you saying?’ he demanded, barely suppressing the angry tremor in his voice. ‘That all this time you’ve kept yourself separate? That you thought – what? That if you set a foot out of line that Father would have you thrown out? Because you thought that he wasn’t your father? Does that mean that you think that I’m not your actual brother?’

‘Arthur, no!’ Morgana said immediately, looking stricken. ‘Of course you are my brother! I have always considered you to be my brother, and I always will. You know that!’ She sighed and rubbed her face with her hand. ‘I really don’t want to do this now, Arthur,’ she sighed. ‘This is neither the time nor the place.’

Arthur let out a breath before nodding.

‘Agreed,’ he said in a subdued voice. ‘But consider this Morgana: you were _always_ the one that Uther turned to, that he talked to. You were always the one that he relied on. And, when it comes down to it, I’m the one that he expelled from the family, not you.’

Morgana was silent for a moment as she considered this.

‘Well,’ she said at last. ‘Perhaps it would be well for you to consider a few things for your part. You have always been and you always will be your mother’s son. You look like her and act like her in almost every way. Think of what that must have been like for your father, having just lost her. Also, the reason that he came to me and relied on me was because I _allowed_ it. You may have walked a diverging path only recently, Arthur, but you have been rebelling against Uther almost from the moment we lost Igraine. I think it was that Christmas that caused it,’ Morgana mused. ‘That first one where Uther tried to take your camera away from you. You two were never quite the same after that. And,’ she looked Arthur straight in the eye, ‘you were never expelled from the family. If you recall, _you_ were the one that walked out that day. I was there – not once did Uther ever shut the door on you. It remains open, even now.’ She held Arthur’s eyes. ‘It would do you well to remember that, dear brother.’

They sat like that for a moment, staring unblinkingly – challengingly – into each other’s eyes and the impromptu staring contest was only brought to an end by the sound of a knock at the door.

‘Come in!’ Morgana called.

The door opened and George came in.

‘Forgive the intrusion, ma’am,’ he said respectfully. ‘But Sir Uther has just sent word that he is ready in the board room and that he is waiting on you both. Shall I let him know you will need a few more minutes?’

‘No need, George,’ Morgana said, straightening up. ‘We’ll be there in a moment.’ She turned to her brother. ‘You ready?’

Arthur grimaced and slowly got to his feet.

‘Well,’ he said grimly. ‘I guess we will find out.’

And together, they walked to the door and, with a quick nod at George, exited the room.

  


  
*****  


Uther was waiting when they finally arrived in the board room. He was idly smoking a cigarette and did not look up when the doors opened or even when they chose their seats beside him.

‘Good of you to come,’ Uther said in an unemotional tone. ‘You know Lady Morgause, of course?’

For Uther was not alone in the room. To his right, perched a short distance away from him, was a fierce-looking blonde-haired woman with a scowl on her face and, in Arthur’s opinion, far too much eye makeup. It wasn’t as if he wasn’t familiar with the latest trend for smoky-looking eyes – he _was_ a photographer, after all – but he couldn’t help but think that this woman overdid it just the slightest bit. Instead of making her look more attractive, it made her look intimidating. Then again, that was probably the look that she was going for.

‘Lady Morgause,’ Arthur said smoothly, giving the woman a nod. He had met her only once before, at some sort of gala. He had tried to involve her in conversation but she had given monosyllable answers to all of his questions, avoided all eye-contact with him, and had looked supremely bored for the entire duration that he had tried to converse with her. Unsurprisingly, Arthur had given her up for a bad job and had quickly moved away. He had thus been immensely annoyed not only to find out that she had been promoted to senior executive at _Camelot_ , but that she was also a particular friend of Morgana’s. Morgana hardly needed any more bad influences in her life.

Morgause gave him a stiff nod in return but that was all the acknowledgement that he received from her as her eyes slid uninterestedly off him and onto Morgana, bringing a flicker of warmth to Morgause’s otherwise hard brown eyes.

‘Morgana,’ she said, smiling slightly.

‘Hallo, Morgause,’ Morgana said, smiling back. ‘Sir Uther. Sorry we’re late – I was just having a chat with Arthur.’

‘Indeed,’ Uther raised an eyebrow even though he didn’t sound in the least bit curious. ‘But perhaps next time you could do it at your own expense? Time is money, after all, and we don’t all have the ability to fritter it away as we please.’

This was, no doubt, a dig at what Uther saw as Arthur’s leniency in his own self-set schedule in what he thought was a namby-pamby profession. Arthur however, well-used to the sneers of his father and his disregard for Arthur’s choices, calmly ignored the scorn and instead leaned back in his chair, appraising the others steadily.

‘You brought me here,’ he said evenly. ‘Now talk.’

Morgana tossed her hair over her shoulder before beginning.

‘As I told you before, Arthur,’ she said. ‘We want to … shake _Camelot_ up a bit. Make things a bit more exciting for our readers.’

‘Not _too_ exciting,’ Uther interjected.

‘Not too exciting,’ Morgana repeated pleasantly, though Arthur could see that she was hard put to not roll her eyes. ‘But yes. We want our magazine to start appealing to a wider demographic – amazing as it is, there is a wider circle of potential readers than former debs and their mothers. And, we have all decided, that the main way of extending our reach is through changing the nature of our photographs. We can’t just rely on Lady Marys and Claires and Princess Whatshernames any more.’ 

She paused and looked to the others for agreement. Uther’s eyebrow twitched and Morgause tilted her head the other way but neither of them said anything. However, as neither of them disagreed either, Morgana continued. ‘You see – you’ll know this better than anyone, of course Arthur – but there is a depth in photography that is unexplored as of yet – especially in magazines. And if _Camelot_ is anything, it is a trend-setter. We always have been and we always will be. It is just that this time, we don’t want the trend to simply be in fashion,’ she paused for effect. ‘This time, we want more.’ 

Arthur raised an eyebrow.

‘More?’ he asked dryly.

‘We don’t simply want to be good,’ Morgause said quietly. ‘We want to be the _best_.’

‘We want to be _iconic_ ,’ Morgana said, leaning forward in her seat eagerly. ‘We want people to sit up and take notice. Not just here, but internationally. And we think that you are the person to help us.’

Arthur cocked his head.

‘Perhaps you would be so kind as to explain why.’

Morgana paused.

‘Why?’ she asked.

‘Yes why,’ Arthur repeated. ‘Why you think I am the right person for the job. Why me, when there are so many other photographers out there.’

Morgana looked about her helplessly. 

There was a pause, and then Uther spoke.

‘Because you are different,’ he said quietly. ‘You aren’t the same as those “other photographers” out there, Arthur. We both know it. You are willing to experiment, to introduce new ideas instead of stay on the same tried-and-tested track. I may not have always approved of that, but I am big enough to accept that you have talent, and that we at _Camelot_ are in need of it.’ He paused. ‘Then there is also the fact that you are my son.’

Arthur couldn’t help his cheeks from colouring.

‘Of course,’ he gritted out. ‘You wanted to draw me back into the fold.’

‘I won’t deny that the thought didn’t cross my mind,’ Uther said slowly, lowering his head. ‘But I would say that it’s more of a question of trust than manipulation in this case.’ Uther finally turned and looked Arthur in the eyes. ‘I trust you with this assignment Arthur. I trust you with the task I am giving you and I know that you have both the talent and the ability to do as I ask. So now I am asking you: will you work for us on this project?’

Arthur swallowed.

‘All you have given me is an idea,’ he said reasonably. ‘I have yet to hear details on what the job actually is and what your plan for transformation is.’

Morgana quickly took over again.

‘As I said, one of our new aims is to be better recognised internationally,’ she said. ‘And for that purpose, we have decided that our next photo shoot,’ she paused, ‘will be in Manhattan.’

Arthur blinked.

‘I’m sorry,’ he said after a moment. ‘But are you asking me to go to _New York_ to shoot pictures for you?’

Morgana raised an eyebrow.

‘Interested?’ she asked challengingly.

Arthur reached into his pocket and slowly brought out a cigarette. He deliberately paced his movements as he lit it and slowly took a drag from the end, trying to hide his excitement and eagerness.

‘The idea is intriguing,’ he said at last. ‘Any details?’

‘Well,’ Morgana sat forward. ‘The idea is to have traditional American landmarks as backdrops to new British fashions – a sort of “British revival” in America, if you will.’

‘Let me guess,’ Arthur said dryly, taking a puff of his cigarette. ‘Your headline is going to be “The British Are Coming”, isn’t it?’

Morgana actually coloured at that.

‘Never mind,’ Arthur chuckled. ‘I’m just the picture guy, after all. I leave the words to better heads than mine.’

‘Only due to your own choice,’ Uther added, his face unreadable. 

Arthur shrugged. 

‘I’m happy,’ he said honestly, and his thoughts couldn’t help but flick over to Merlin for some reason. ‘I have no regrets.’

‘Then you are luckier than most,’ Morgause said quietly.

Arthur glanced in her direction before turning back to Uther and Morgana.

‘I understand what you’re aiming at,’ he said, inhaling a lungful of smoke thoughtfully. ‘And yes, I have to admit that I am interested.’

‘Then you will take the job?’ Morgana asked.

Arthur did not reply immediately.

‘I believe there are a few things to discuss before I do anything rash,’ he said demurely. ‘My wages, for one.’ He ignored the sniff that came from Uther’s direction. ‘Also, I have a few conditions that I’d like to be agreed upon before I shake hands with you.’

‘Conditions?’ Morgana said flatly.

Arthur smiled at her.

‘Yes,’ he said sweetly. ‘Conditions. But we’ll get to that in a moment. First off – my salary.’ He looked from one face to another. ‘What are you offering me?

Uther and Morgana glanced at each other before Morgana said:

‘Eight guineas. Per shot.’

Arthur snorted. 

‘Eight guineas,’ he repeated. ‘Perfectly reasonable – if you were a photographer for children’s birthday parties. Try again.’

Another look passed between Uther and Morgana.

‘Ten guineas,’ Morgana said finally. ‘And you’re pushing it Arthur.’

Arthur smirked.

‘Any Tom, Dick or Harry can command ten guineas,’ he said carelessly. ‘Try again.’

Morgana sighed and Morgause glared at him from across the table. 

Uther slowly drew himself up in his seat.

‘Why don’t you tell us what you want and we will decide on that?’ he asked quietly.

Arthur eyed his father.

‘Fifteen guineas,’ he said at last. ‘I’ll do it for fifteen.’

Morgana snorted and Morgause raised an eyebrow.

‘Fifteen guineas? For a freelance photographer?’ Morgause narrowed her eyes. ‘Outrageous.’

Uther was watching Arthur closely.

‘Fifteen guineas is a lot,’ he said mildly. ‘You must obviously think quite a bit about yourself to command such a fee.’

‘I know what I’m worth,’ Arthur said evenly, meeting Uther’s eyes.

‘But how are we to know if you are worth the expense?’ Uther asked, suddenly blunt. ‘This may be an experimental project, but it is an expensive one nonetheless. I don’t want to take you on only to find that you are doing, at fifteen guineas a page, what any other photographer would do for half that amount.’

Arthur pulled the cigarette away from his lips and deliberately pushed it down into an ash-tray before pulling his seat closer to the desk.

‘You listen to me,’ he said, meeting his father’s eyes with an intense gaze of his own. ‘I understand your concerns and I appreciate them. But I will tell you this: there is no one – _no one_ – who can do what I do. Who knows pictures as I do. What Henry Clarke did for _Vogue_ I can do for _Camelot_ , only a hundred times better. I know what I am capable of; all that remains is for you to believe that.’

‘I’ll believe it when I see it,’ Uther answered calmly. He eyed Arthur for a moment more before turning to Morgana. ‘Give him the money.’

Arthur blinked, surprised in spite of himself. Morgana, too, seemed slightly shocked, but she dutifully made note of the arrangement in her ledger. Morgause merely scowled.

‘Now, about those conditions,’ Uther lifted his head. ‘Tell us about them.’

‘Right,’ Arthur said, shaking his head to clear it. ‘Firstly, the camera I use and the film and development process used are to be mine and mine alone and you will not ask me to change them _or_ inquire into my development method, which is my own personal technique. In return, I will assure you pictures of a very high quality and resolution – probably even better than those you are receiving at the moment.’

‘Very well,’ Uther nodded, accepting this.

‘Then,’ Arthur went on, feeling slightly braver now that his first condition had been accepted. ‘I want complete autonomy on my photo shoots – location, angle, lighting, etcetera.’

There was a pause at that.

‘Ah,’ Morgana said, shifting in her seat. ‘This may require some negotiation. You see, Arthur, this is what will happen. The shoot is to occur in Manhattan, on location. There will be no studio and no artificial lighting – just the city and the sun’s natural light. You, of course, will have the final say on these things. We will have a list drawn up on suggested sites for photographs but there will be nothing on there that you should have a particular disinclination towards, I assure you. So while the locations are somewhat fixed, you do have some discretion as to when and how to take them, and as long as you get the majority of the shots, I’m sure we will not cause any fuss if you choose to skip a location or two. As long as you don’t miss the Empire State building or something.’ She gave him a wry smile. ‘Is that to your satisfaction.’

Arthur could work with that. ‘I suppose,’ he said.

‘Also,’ Morgana continued. ‘You will understand if we don’t allow you to simply run loose while you are in America. You are an employee of _Camelot_ – or at least, you will be – and so you are still bound by our rules and regulations and you will still be expected to take direction from a higher authority.’ Here she paused, almost hesitant. ‘And to that effect, we will be sending Morgause here along with you.’

‘What?’ Arthur glanced at Morgause who raised an eyebrow at him.

‘No arguments, Arthur,’ Uther said sternly. ‘Morgause is the only person senior enough to undertake such a project. Morgana and I, of course, cannot be spared. Therefore, when on location, you are to take all further direction from Morgause, is that understood?’

Morgause’s face was now studiously blank, he could have sworn that she had worn an evil little smile mere moments before.

‘Fine,’ he said at last, grumpily. ‘I suppose I have to make some sacrifices.’

‘Good,’ Morgana said with satisfaction. ‘Now if that is all …’

‘Not quite,’ Arthur interrupted, causing the other three to look up in surprise.

‘You have another condition?’ Morgana asked, blinking.

‘Yes,’ Arthur said, and this time he couldn’t suppress his nervousness. He knew what he was asking was a lot, but this was _his_ photo shoot and he needed to be able to work it to his own satisfaction. ‘My final condition: I get to choose the model.’

It was as if he had said that he should be the one to choose the next Prime Minister of England. The other three immediately started protesting and waving their hands at him, Uther in vehemence and Morgause in scorn. Only Morgana looked like it would be possible to half-way convince her of anything.

‘Look,’ Arthur said, laying his hands on the table. ‘One of the most important tools that a photographer has at his disposal is his relationship with his model-’

‘Oh yes, we have _all_ heard of the “relationships” that you have had with your models,’ Morgause said scathingly. Morgana frowned but Uther did nothing to discourage Morgause.

‘I think you will find that they were all former models of mine,’ Arthur said coolly. ‘And that is not what I meant. I need someone that I am able to work with, someone who can anticipate my moods and inclinations, someone who understands the art of photography. I don’t want some prissy, stuck-up former deb who thinks that “looking natural” means standing there looking as if she has a great big stick jammed up her-’ he caught Uther’s icy stare. ‘-dress,’ he finished lamely.

Morgana was frowning.

‘We understand your concerns,’ she said gently. ‘But Arthur you must understand – you do realise that this is our magazine, it is our investment? We need someone who we trust, who we can see the potential in. I’m sure, of course, that you will pick a girl for all the right reasons. However, we can’t just allow you complete free reign on this. I’m sorry, Arthur,’ she shook her head. ‘It’s just not possible.’

Arthur swallowed and gritted his teeth. He had known that it would be a long shot anyway. It was just – he could admit it, he had been spoiled after working with Merlin. He was sure, if he looked hard enough, he could find someone else who worked like that with him – someone feminine. If he was allowed the chance and the choice, he could do it. He could show them all what he was capable of.

‘However-’ Morgana’s voice made Arthur’s head shoot right up again. ‘What we can do is give you a wide selection of models to choose from, and give you the final say on who you choose.’ She looked Arthur in the eye. ‘Is that acceptable?’

It would have to be, he wouldn’t get a better deal than that.

‘Yes,’ he said. ‘Yes, I suppose that it is.’

‘Well well then,’ Morgana said, leaning back and smiling. ‘It appears that we have a deal.’

‘Yes,’ Arthur said, leaning back in his chair and surveying the people in front of him. He wasn’t sure what was going to come from this decision, but he couldn’t help but be excited. ‘It appears that we do.’

  


  
*****  


Arthur was woken from a deep slumber by the sound of a loud knock at the door. He just lay there for a moment, blinking, wondering where he was. Then, finally realising that there was someone knocking at the door, he pulled himself up and out of bed, wincing when the other person in bed gave a moan and turned over grumpily. Pulling a robe over himself, Arthur staggered out of his bedroom and made his way over to the door. It was at times like this that he really missed having a butler around.

‘Coming, coming,’ he muttered, stifling a yawn as he undid the latch and pulled back the bolt. He opened the door a crack and, peeking through, was surprised to see that the person outside was none other than Merlin.

‘Hello!’ Merlin grinned sheepishly at him when he opened the door fully. ‘Sorry, did I wake you? I just wanted to see how it went – your meeting with your father?’

‘Oh.’ Arthur blinked before pulling his robe tighter around himself. He noted the way Merlin’s eyes dipped down to rake over his front before quickly drawing away, a light flush rising high on his cheeks. Instead of feeling pleased, however, Arthur couldn’t help feeling quite uneasy. He wasn’t alone in the apartment, after all. ‘Yes. It was – it went well.’

Merlin beamed.

‘Well let us in then,’ he said, trying to push inside. ‘You can tell us all about it.’

‘I-’ Arthur half-heartedly tried to block him but Merlin slipped inside before he could properly do so. He sighed as Merlin pushed his way into the front parlour and watched as he made himself at home, collapsing into an armchair.

‘So what did they want?’ Merlin asked, cocking his head curiously. ‘Did they offer you a job?’

Arthur rubbed his head tiredly.

‘Yes, yes they did,’ he said, distracted. ‘Look Merlin, I’m tired, could we possibly do this another time?’

Merlin’s smile dimmed slightly.

‘Oh,’ he said, drawing himself up and off the sofa he had nestled himself in. ‘Right. Of course. I didn’t think.’ He gave Arthur an awkward smile.

‘It’s all right,’ Arthur said, fidgeting, trying not to give into the urge to bundle Merlin out. ‘I’ll – I’ll tell you all about it later, okay?’

Merlin was about to respond when a voice from behind them interrupted.

‘Arty, aren’t you coming back to bed?’ a low sultry voice murmured, causing both Merlin and Arthur to freeze.

Merlin whipped around, his eyes wide, and Arthur watched with a sick sense of dread as he saw Merlin take in the figure before him.

‘Oh, hi there,’ Arthur’s one night stand said, seemingly noticing Merlin for the first time. He was sucking on the end of a cigarette and taking in the scene before him easily. ‘I’m Cenred. Are you a friend of Arthur’s?’ And he stuck out a hand for Merlin to shake even as his gaze trailed up and down Merlin’s body. Merlin gingerly took his hand but pulled it away as quickly as possible. He too returned Cenred’s gaze but his was more surprised and assessing than lecherous. 

Arthur couldn’t help but wince as he saw Merlin’s eyes trail from Cenred’s messy hair and loosely-tied robe to Arthur’s own lack of dress and the bruises that had been sucked into Arthur’s neck.

Merlin swallowed.

‘Oh. Yes. I – that is, I work with Arthur. For Arthur. We – work together,’ he finished lamely.

‘Oh,’ Cenred said with a shrug. ‘I suppose that I do too, in a fashion. I’m one of the editors at _Camelot_ magazine, you know.’

‘Oh,’ Merlin said, now looking down at his shoes. ‘No, I didn’t.’

‘Yes, well,’ Cenred took a puff of his cigarette. ‘I think it’s about time Arthur and I went back to bed. Unless you want to stay as well?’ his eyes raked up and down Merlin’s body again.

This time Merlin went a bright red.

‘Cenred,’ Arthur growled. ‘Leave us please.’

Cenred cast a careless glance at them.

‘As you will,’ he said with a shrug, before slinking off, presumable back to the bedroom.

Merlin and Arthur just stood there in silence after he left, not moving or talking.

Finally, Arthur broke the silence.

‘Merlin-’ he began, but Merlin interrupted him.

‘Don’t,’ he said quickly, not meeting Arthur’s eyes, his cheeks flushed with embarrassment. ‘I didn’t see anything. You have nothing to worry about.’

Arthur opened his mouth but then quickly shut it again. He didn’t know what else to say. It was one thing for Merlin to be vaguely aware of his tastes but it was an entirely different thing for him to have practically caught Arthur in the act.

‘Let me -’ he tried, but Merlin shook his head.

‘I told you,’ he said awkwardly, still not meeting Arthur’s eyes. ‘There’s no need to explain. It’s not like – I did know, really.’

Arthur nodded, his eyes on the floor.

‘And you – will you…’ he began.

‘I’m not staying!’ Merlin said immediately, his face pink and his eyes wide.

Arthur couldn’t stop himself from snorting at that.

‘Idiot,’ he grunted, a small smile twitching on his lips. ‘I wasn’t asking that. I – I think I shall ask Cenred to leave now, in any case. I don’t know what I was doing, bringing him here. I don’t even – anyway. What I meant was,’ he suddenly looked up, his eyes full of worry and earnestness. ‘Don’t think less of me?’ he said, almost pleading.

Merlin’s eyes softened.

‘I could never think badly of you, Arthur,’ he said quietly. ‘I never meant that – I may not be quite … _sure_ of your … proclivities,’ he stumbled over the word. ‘But – you’re my friend, and – and I _know_ you. This doesn’t – it doesn’t change that, okay?’

‘Okay.’ Arthur nodded, still subdued. He glanced up as Merlin moved towards the door. ‘See you tomorrow?’ he asked quietly.

Merlin looked at him before nodding and giving him a soft smile.

‘Tomorrow,’ he confirmed, before turning and leaving.

Arthur shut the door with a firm _click_. That, he supposed, had gone better than he had expected.

Then, pulling his robe together with a sigh, he turned and headed back towards to bedroom.

  


  
*****  


Arthur didn’t see Merlin for the majority of the next day, occupied as he was with his daily appointments and necessary time spent in the dark room, developing his prints. By the time he finally saw Merlin again, it was the end of the day, just as he was saying goodbye to a client.

‘So, will I see you for dinner?’ the girl was asking, playing with her hair and glancing flirtatiously at Arthur up from under her eyelashes.

‘At 8pm sharp,’ Arthur murmured, throwing her his own seductive smile in return.

The girl gave Arthur a smouldering smile before turning around and flouncing out of the room. Arthur watched her go appreciatively before glancing up to see that Merlin was also in the room, watching him closely.

‘All right?’ Arthur asked mildly, glancing at Merlin as he shuffled some papers on his desk.

Merlin ducked his head but smiled back tentatively.

‘Yes,’ he nodded. ‘And – and you?’

Arthur smiled.

‘Very well, thank you,’ he said smugly. He nodded towards the door. ‘Got the number of that bird who just left. Pretty little bit of skirt, wasn’t she? We’re going to dinner later.’

Merlin blinked. Then he turned and stared out of the door that the girl had left through. He turned to Arthur.

‘What about Cenred?’ he asked, confused. ‘Is this a cover? Were all the women before-’

‘I like both men and women, actually.’ Arthur shrugged. 

Merlin blinked in surprise.

‘You can – both?’ he asked dubiously.

‘Yeah,’ Arthur said, feeling supremely awkward. ‘Both.’

‘Oh,’ Merlin said, surprise clear in his voice. He cleared his throat. ‘Oh, I didn’t know that you could – that one could …’

‘Yeah,’ Arthur gave him a tight smile. ‘You can.’

‘Oh,’ Merlin said. ‘That actually makes sense.’

Arthur raised an eyebrow.

‘It does?’

Merlin shrugged.

‘I mean – yeah. You never looked like you were… hiding with women and that one time with-’ Merlin blushed and smiled self-consciously. ‘I suppose I’d wondered.’

‘Well,’ Arthur said, leaning back against his desk with a half-mocking smile. ‘There’s no need to wonder any more.’

Merlin shuffled around on his feet.

‘Yeah,’ he said awkwardly. He jerked his head towards the door. ‘So I’ll just …’

Arthur immediately straightened up.

‘Wait,’ he said frowning. ‘Don’t you want to know what happened yesterday?’

Merlin stared at Arthur, his eyes wide.

Arthur rolled his eyes.

‘I meant at _Camelot_ , idiot, not in my bedroom. Honestly, Merlin!’

Merlin had the grace to blush.

‘Right he said,’ moving back towards Arthur with a sheepish smile. ‘So – how’d it go? What did they want?’

‘Well,’ Arthur said, reaching over his desk and pouring himself a drink. ‘They offered me a job.’

‘Hmm,’ Merlin said nodding. ‘I expected as much. Did you take it?’

‘Yes,’ Arthur said simply.

Merlin frowned.

‘But what about here?’ he demanded. ‘What about Gaius? What about me?’

‘It’s only freelance,’ Arthur said soothingly. ‘I still belong here – it’s not like I’m packing up my bags and moving to a desk in _Camelot_. I walked away from that, remember?’ He paused. ‘That being said, they have offered me an assignment that will take a good deal of time and will make it impossible for me to be here.’

‘And you took it?’ Merlin asked.

‘Yes,’ Arthur said simply. ‘I did.’

‘But why?’ Merlin asked, confused. ‘I though that you left _Camelot_ because you didn’t want to work for them!’

Arthur shrugged.

‘It’s _Manhattan_ ,’ he said, as if that explained it all. When Merlin didn’t look as impressed as he’d hoped, he sighed. ‘It’s also a chance to _show_ them, Merlin.’

‘Show them what?’

‘That I’m as good as I say I am,’ Arthur said, looking straight into Merlin’s eyes, finally solemn. ‘That I can do this. That there is more to being a photographer than taking pictures of the po-faced upper crust and making sure that they look pretty. To show people that this is goddamned art!’ he finished with a shout.

‘I see you feel strongly about this,’ Merlin said after a moment.

‘Yeah,’ Arthur grimaced and ran a hand through his hair. ‘I do.’

Merlin was quiet for a moment.

‘Then – then you’re doing it?’ he said at last.

Arthur nodded.

‘Yes,’ he said firmly, looking down at his feet. Then, after a moment, he looked up at Merlin from underneath the fringe of his hair. ‘But I was hoping that I wouldn’t have to do it alone.’

Merlin jerked up at that.

‘W-what?’ he stammered. ‘What do you mean?’

‘I mean,’ Arthur said slowly. ‘That if I’m going away for a while, then I will be wanting someone that I can trust, someone who knows how I work and what I want. An assistant, if you will.’ He looked at Merlin. ‘Know anyone who would be interested in that?’

A long, slow smile slid over Merlin’s face.

‘Yeah,’ he said, smile slowly pulling out into a grin. ‘Yeah, I just think that I might.’

  


  
*****  


Two weeks later and Arthur and Merlin were on a plane to New York, sitting side by side and unable to control their excitement. Unfortunately, whilst they were sitting in first class seats, sipping champagne from expensive crystal glasses and being waited upon by pretty airhostesses, they were sitting with Lady Morgause Blackwood, who spent the entire duration of the trip doing nothing but sending the two of them scathing glances, which rather dampened their good spirits.

Arthur had spent the two previous weeks preparing for the trip, reshuffling his appointments, developing any outstanding prints that needed to be processed, collecting together his equipment, meeting Morgana for details and, more importantly than any of these things, deciding upon a model from the flock of women that _Camelot_ sent his way. It hadn’t been easy; Arthur was extremely picky about what sort of model he wanted, and Morgana had almost thrown a book at him when, four days before he was to leave, he had come in declaring that he didn’t like to look of _any_ of these girls whatsoever.

Two days from departure, however, Arthur finally settled on a pretty blonde named Elena, who stood out not only by virtue of her natural mien and the genuineness of her smiles, but also the way in which, when Arthur had first seen her, she had tripped over her own feet and had then proceeded to sport the most extraordinary blush that Arthur had ever seen, bar Merlin’s. Arthur had almost booked her on the spot; yes, he could admit, partially because she reminded him of Merlin but only in that he had the immediate sense that she would be perfect to work with and that she wasn’t stiff and robotic like all the other models that he had seen.

Morgana had been incredibly dubious at his choice and had repeatedly asked him to look further or choose someone else. Arthur had rolled his eyes and had continued auditioning models for the rest of the day but having reached the end of the day without finding (in his eyes) a superior model, Morgana finally threw the towel in and accepted that Arthur wasn’t going to pleased with anyone other than Elena and so finally signed off on the partnership.

Before she did so, however, she left Arthur with a pointed warning.

‘I’ll accept her because you want her,’ she told him in a low voice. ‘But I can’t say that I feel much confidence in the girl. She’s very …’

‘Ungainly?’ Arthur offered.

‘Clumsy,’ Morgana said bluntly. ‘Frankly, I’m not sure why she was even on the list but I suppose I am grateful enough – at least now we have a model.’

Arthur shrugged unconcernedly.

‘But – listen to me Arthur – if this fails – if she isn’t what we are looking for-’ She looked Arthur straight in the eye, forcing him to meet her gaze. ‘Then we are going to replace her with someone more suitable. Someone of _our_ choosing.’ She paused. ‘And if that doesn’t work out … then perhaps we would have to consider changing the photographer as well.’

Arthur tilted his head and met Morgana’s gaze with a cool one of his own.

‘She won’t fail,’ he said calmly. ‘And, I can assure you, neither will I. Don’t worry about it - everything will go off exactly as planned.’

Morgana cast him a dubious look.

‘If you say so,’ she said doubtfully. ‘But remember, Arthur – stick to the plan. And do as Morgause tells you.’

Arthur had quirked an eyebrow at her before pulling on his coat and departing.

And so here he was today, being glared at by a frosty Morgause who thought that he should wait upon her every look and word. He wasn’t even presuming this – he knew it for a fact. She had told him as much.

‘Now listen here,’ she had told Arthur, Merlin and Elena prior to boarding their plane. ‘From this moment forth you are under my jurisdiction and you _will_ listen to me and do as I say. You will _not_ embarrass me-’ here her eyes flitted over Merlin and touched on Elena, and her upper lip curled upwards in disdain. ‘And you will follow my directions _to the letter_.’ This time her glare was fully focused on Arthur.

Arthur had merely raised an eyebrow and blew a stream of smoke in Morgause’s direction. Merlin had scowled at her words and muttered his acknowledgement while Elena just gave a vague smile and nodded her head, her mind clearly on something else.

Things had relaxed somewhat when they had got on the plane. Merlin and Elena had been slightly wary of each other at first, but then Elena had stumbled over Merlin’s foot while trying to get to her seat and, in between one apologising over her clumsiness and the other worrying over his gangly limbs and lack of coordination, they had somehow bonded and, by the time they got off the plane at John F. Kennedy Airport, appeared to have become the best of friends.

A sleek private limousine was waiting for them (or perhaps, to be more precise, for Lady Morgause) the moment that they stepped out of the airport. A man waited by the car’s side, holding a plaque with Morgause’s name on it and wearing a hopeful look on his face when he saw their party.

‘Lady Morgause?’ he asked eagerly as they approached. He was a handsome man with dark skin and kind eyes and an overall pleasant expression. His suit was neat and very flattering, adding to the overall effect of handsomeness that seemed to radiate from him. ‘My name is Lancelot du Lac. The _Avalon Group_ arranged for me to assist you in any way that I can during your time on this side of the pond. Please let me know the moment that you need something.’ His smile was very pleasant and his manner ingratiating. He was, Arthur thought, all in all perfectly charming.

Morgause, however, didn’t seem to feel the same.

‘What I _need_ ,’ she said coldly, pushing dark sunglasses over her eyes. ‘Is for you to drive and not babble at me like an idiot when I have just spent the best part of ten hours stuck on a plane with a rude, self-important child-’ here she gestured at Arthur ‘-and a couple of incompetent, lumbering, toddlers-’ here she threw her arm out to encompass both Merlin and Elena ‘who would not. Stop. Giggling.’ She threw them a dirty look, before turning back to the poor assistant, who was looking somewhat shocked. This was, presumably, the first time that anyone had failed to be completely taken by his charms. It was unlikely that anyone had ever spoken to him in that way before.

‘Now,’ Morgause said, narrowing her eyes. ‘You get back in that car and you drive me straight to the Ritz without _a single word_ passing your lips, or I will fire you. Understand?’

Lancelot nodded mutely.

‘Good,’ Morgause said crisply, moving to the limousine. Lancelot blinked dumbly after her for a second before his eyes widened and he leapt forward, opening the end door of the car just as Morgause swept in, no doubt having expected either someone to have opened the door for her or for it to have opened for her magically on its own. 

Lancelot took great care to not trap any part of her in the doorway and then closed the car door behind her, stepping back a moment later with a bemused expression still on his face. It was only when Morgause scowled at him through the window that he seemed to remember himself. He made a jerky movement towards the driver’s side of the car before Arthur’s pointed clearing of his throat alerted him to the fact that he had more than one passenger to attend to.

‘Oh – right, yes,’ he stammered out, stumbling over to stand in front of them. He tried to compose himself once more. ‘I’m – I’m Lancelot du Lac. From the _Avalon Group_. I-’

‘Yes, yes, we heard it the first time,’ Arthur said impatiently. ‘I’m Arthur Pendragon, and this is Merlin Emrys and Elena Fotheringham. You may be Lady Morgause’s assistant but I am sure you will not begrudge us a ride to the hotel alongside her? You do have a limousine, after all.’

Lancelot, whose eyes had gone wide at the names, immediately grabbed hold of the handle of the door in front of the one that Lady Morgause had entered. 

‘Lord – Lord Pendragon,’ he stammered out. ‘Lady Fotheringham – I – yes, right this way, please!’ and he immediately ushered them into the car.

‘Call me Arthur,’ Arthur told the man before stepping into the car. He shrugged at Merlin and Elena. ‘Prevents him from making mistakes with our titles,’ he explained, before adding ‘ _Americans!_ ’ with a condescending huff of amusement.

Merlin, however, was staring at Elena.

‘You’re – you’re a-’

‘A Lady?’ Elena raised her eyebrow before smiling. ‘Yes,’ she said. ‘Didn’t you know?’

‘No,’ Merlin said, blinking. ‘Not that it makes a difference, of course,’ he said hurriedly. ‘I just – You don’t seem-’ he winced and quickly stopped talking.

Elena, however, laughed.

‘I don’t seem particularly lady-like?’ she asked archly, before chuckling. ‘I’m glad! Daddy always talks about how important it is to remember one’s ancestry, but personally I would much rather have been born on a farm. That way, I’d be able to ride horses all day long!’

That, of course, descended into a long, happy chat about Merlin’s family farm and the Fotheringham family stables, wherein Merlin and Elena bonded over their love for horses and other animals. Arthur sighed and listened to them indulgently, though he swore he heard something that sounded suspiciously like a groan from the endmost seats behind him in the limousine. It appeared that Lady Morgause shared neither Elena and Merlin’s enthusiasm for horses, nor their propensity for chatter.

A short while later they pulled up in front of their hotel, and the car had scarcely pulled up in front of the doors when Morgause had flung the door open and flew out of the car, as if unable to take one more second being in the same car as the others. Lancelot, slightly scandalised at not having been able to open Morgause’s door for her, quickly helped Elena and then Arthur and Merlin out of the car before practically flinging the car keys at the nearest valet and hurrying forward to join Morgause who was making her way up towards the doors of the hotel. Lancelot reached her just as the doorman opened the doors for her, ushering them both in. Morgause walked in without acknowledgement. Arthur, Merlin and Elena followed at a more sedate pace while a number of porters retrieved their luggage from the boot of the car.

By the time the trio had entered the hotel and had looked around at the (admittedly very elegant) hotel surroundings, Lancelot was at the hotel desk, enquiring anxiously about their rooms while Morgause waited impatiently while perched on an expensive looking couch that was placed off to one side. The others reluctantly made their way over but made sure to keep their distance so as to not stand _too_ close to her. 

Before long Lancelot was once more back at their side, clutching five sets of keys in his hands.

‘Your keys, ladies,’ he said as he handed Lady Morgause and Elena their keys. ‘Courtesy of the _Avalon Group_. The rooms are interconnected, so if you should ever desire to converse …’ he trailed off.

Morgause threw Elena the deadliest look they had seen yet, almost as if daring Elena to so much as touch the handle to the door that connected their rooms.

Elena swallowed and gave Morgause a weak smile in return.

‘And gentlemen,’ Lancelot turned and handed over their keys with a more genuine smile. ‘Here are your keys. Your rooms are also interconnected.’

Arthur and Merlin exchanged sideways glances before quickly looking away, although neither of them was completely sure why they did so. Or, at least, Merlin wasn’t. Arthur personally had a pretty good idea why he was suddenly feeling as if he had a basketful of butterflies fluttering around inside his stomach.

‘I will also be staying in the hotel, should you need me,’ Lancelot then informed the party. ‘I will be in room 214. Please feel free to contact me at any time should you feel the need,’ he said earnestly, before turning to Morgause. ‘I will call on you at 9am tomorrow morning, Lady Morgause. I hope that you will have a sufficiently rejuvenating sleep tonight. All of you,’ he said, turning to include the others.

The others all smiled back and even Morgause looked slightly pacified by the earnestness with which Lancelot spoke.

‘Very well,’ she said crisply, rising from her seat. ‘We will meet tomorrow morning for breakfast and make plans from there. For now, you have the rest of the day to do as you please. But do keep in mind that I want you all rested and refreshed for tomorrow – particularly you, Miss Fotheringham.’ Morgause fixed Elena with a steely gaze, deliberately leaving out Elena’s title.

‘All right then,’ Arthur smiled, clapping his hands together, pleased. Like magic half a dozen new porters appeared by their sides, ready and willing to carry their bags for them. Within the blink of an eye they had all disappeared again, taking the bags and suitcases with them.

Merlin stared after them. Out of all of them, he was the one feeling most out of his depth. It had been a day of firsts, after all: first time on an aeroplane – a private one, at that; first time in a limousine, first time _abroad_ ; and now, first time in a first class hotel that he would never have been able to afford in a hundred years on his own salary.

Arthur, glancing at him, seemed to realise this.

‘Come on,’ he said kindly. ‘Let me show you what you have been missing.’

Merlin hesitated for a moment before smiling. Glancing once more around at the hotel lobby, he took a deep breath and stepped forward.

  


  
*****  


The next day found them all at breakfast, well-rested and refreshed. Merlin in particularly was excited – never before had he ever been in a room so luxuriant or a bed so soft, as he repeatedly told Arthur. He frequently expressed his gratitude that Arthur had carted him half-way across the world to assist him, scarcely able to believe it – he was in _New York_! He was in _America_! It seemed quite unreal to him, a lowly farm-boy from Wales who had never so much as dreamed of even being able to fly on a real life aeroplane before.

Arthur took in Merlin’s excitement with satisfaction. He had known that Merlin would enjoy the trip to Manhattan, more so than himself or even Elena. It was one of the reasons that he had insisted that he be able to bring Merlin along on the trip; strictly speaking, he didn’t actually need an assistant – he’d never needed one for the actual photography work, merely for doing the dull desk and paperwork that he could never be bothered to do himself. But as long as _Camelot_ were paying for it, he may as well make the best use of their considerable resources that he could and so had insisted on bringing Merlin.

And so the day started off brightly, with all of them eager and enthusiastic to make a start on their work. This enthusiasm stayed strong throughout breakfast and barely dimmed even when Merlin almost made himself sick by overindulging in pancakes and sticky syrup. The mood became more solemn, however, when having finished breakfast, Morgause turned to the others and regarded them all with a cool expression.

‘I know this is our first day,’ she said. ‘And that for some of you it is actually your first time in New York …’ her eyes rested disdainfully on Merlin for a moment. ‘However,’ she continued. ‘That does not mean that I will tolerate any slackness in your behaviour. We are here to do a job and we will do it and we will do it to the best of our ability. Do you understand?’

Both Merlin and Elena nodded while Arthur gave a careless shrug. Lancelot, who had met them in the hotel lobby before breakfast, merely sat to the side, observing.

‘Good,’ Morgause said briskly, dabbing daintily at her already-perfect mouth with a napkin. ‘Then we shall proceed as follows; you shall now all leave to make yourselves ready – Miss Fotheringham, you will join me so that we can select your outfit for the day and ready your makeup. We shall meet by the hotel desk precisely one hour from now, no excuses. From there we shall proceed to the first of our American landmarks, the Empire State building. Presuming that it should take us all morning, we shall then have luncheon, and then proceed to our second landmark, the New York Public Library. Are we agreed?’

There was a flurry of nods and murmurs of agreement, though Arthur neither moved his head nor opened his mouth.

‘Good,’ Morgause said with a nod, before rising from her seat, causing everyone else to rise with her. ‘Then I shall see you all again in one hour.’ She turned to Elena. ‘If you will follow me …’

Lancelot chose that moment to speak up.

‘Lady Morgause-’ he began.

‘I have no need for you just yet,’ Morgause said coldly. ‘You will be here with the others in an hour’s time. Do not worry, Mr. du Lac – you shall have plenty of work ready for you, come this evening.’

Lancelot smiled weakly at that. Then, with a nod, Morgause was gone, leaving Elena to hurry on after her in order to catch up.

‘Goodness,’ Lancelot said after a moment, when Morgause and Elena had both disappeared from view. ‘Lady Morgause really is quite the … the-’

‘Witch?’ Merlin suggested.

‘Harpy?’ Arthur offered at the same time, smirking.

Lancelot ducked his head and smiled shyly at them.

‘I ought not to agree with that,’ he said ruefully. ‘But I will. I’m no coward, but the woman _scares_ me.’

‘You and me both,’ Merlin agreed fervently, throwing Lancelot a grin. ‘I feel sorry for you though – you have to tag along after her all day, doing whatever she asks.’

‘True,’ Lancelot grimaced. ‘But at least I get to escape her when she leaves. You, on the other hand, share a country with her.’

‘More’s the pity,’ Arthur said wryly, pulling out his cigarette case and taking a cigarette from it. He offered one to the others but they both refused. He shrugged and put his case away, pulling out his lighter instead. ‘I can’t tell you how delighted I will be the day I finally rid myself of that woman. She’s somehow managed to be a rotten thorn in my side ever since the day I met her and I don’t even work at _Camelot_. Well,’ he corrected himself after a pause. ‘I didn’t. And of course my sister simply adores her.’

‘The Lady Morgana, sir?’ Lancelot asked respectfully.

‘Yes, that’s the one,’ Arthur said, gesturing with his cigarette. ‘And it’s Arthur – just Arthur. None of that nobility nonsense. You will find that Lady Morgause is the only one who actually cares about that.’

‘Yes sir – Arthur,’ Lancelot nodded, giving him a slow smile. 

‘And I’m just Merlin,’ Merlin added. ‘Not that anyone calls me anything else.’

‘On the contrary, I often call you “idiot”,’ Arthur smirked.

Merlin ignored Arthur, rolling his eyes at Lancelot.

‘It’s a pleasure to meet you both properly,’ Lancelot said, smiling at them. ‘And you had better just call me Lance. All my friends do. I only use my full name when I am at work.’

‘Pleased to meet you, Lance,’ Arthur said pleasantly. ‘You’ve been in New York long?’

‘Born and raised,’ Lance replied proudly.

Arthur cast him an assessing look.

‘Is that so?’ he murmured. Merlin’s ears twitched at the interested tone in Arthur’s voice. ‘I suppose you are familiar with it then? The city, I mean.’

‘More than familiar,’ was Lance’s prompt reply. ‘I know it like the back of my hand. Would you like for me to show you New York? I can give you the traditional tour, if you would like-’

‘Let’s put aside tradition for a moment,’ Arthur interrupted. ‘I suppose the New York that _you_ know is very different to the New York seen in photographs and at the pictures?’

‘Oh, very much so,’ Lance said, laughing a little. ‘I would even go so far as to say that the New York you see and the New York I see are wholly different!’

Arthur smiled at that and his eyes gleamed.

‘Well then,’ he said pleasantly, reaching out and putting his arm around Lance and steering him deeper inside the hotel. ‘Perhaps you had better tell me a bit about _your_ New York …’

  


  
*****  


An hour and a half later Arthur, Merlin, Elena, Lancelot and Lady Morgause stood outside the Empire State building, staring up at the giant behemoth of steel and glass with awe.

‘Impressive, isn’t it?’ Lancelot said, beaming at them proudly, as if he alone were responsible for the creation of the building.

‘Very,’ Merlin answered. ‘Can we go up to the top?’

‘No,’ Morgause snapped out before Lancelot could answer. ‘Unless you have forgotten, Mister Emrys, we are here to do a job. Part of that job is to take a photograph of this building. From the outside.’

Merlin ducked his head. 

‘I suppose,’ he mumbled. Elena patted his arm while Lancelot gave him an apologetic smile. ‘Of course.’

‘We can go later,’ Arthur whispered to Merlin, leaning in close so that the others couldn’t hear him. ‘We’ll get rid of the old bat and then we’ll go there ourselves, yeah?’

Merlin looked at him in surprise before a smile overtook his face. He didn’t say anything, but he leaned closer and pressed his shoulder against Arthur’s in gratitude.

‘Right,’ Morgause said briskly, pulling Elena roughly by the arm and situating her in front of the building. ‘Mr. Pendragon, will you and Mr. Emrys set up your camera while I set up Miss Fotheringham here? Du Lac – you come here and help me.’

Arthur, Merlin and Lancelot all blinked at each other for a moment before shuffling over to their respective positions while poor Elena squirmed uncomfortably, her arm still in Morgause’s talon-like grasp.

‘Raise your arm,’ Morgause snapped, pulling Elena’s arm out roughly. ‘And bend your left knee.’

She was interrupted by a loud clearing of the throat. Frowning, she turned around.

Arthur was standing there, camera looped around his neck and an eyebrow raised almost lazily.

‘Yes?’ Morgause barked.

‘Pardon me,’ Arthur drawled. ‘But I do believe that the placement and positioning of the model and the nature of the photograph is, if I recall correctly, under _my_ purview, not _yours_ , Lady Morgause.’

Morgause’s mouth snapped shut and her lips thinned ominously. However, after a moment or two, she gave a tight little nod and stepped away, gesturing for Arthur to take her place by Elena’s side.

‘Right,’ Arthur said, striding forward and regarding Elena speculatively. ‘Forget everything that Mor – er – _Lady_ Morgause just told you.’ Elena’s stiff limbs immediately relaxed and she took a deep breath as her arms dropped back down to her sides. ‘Now just relax and stand easy. Pretend this isn’t a photo shoot. It’s just you and your friends having fun, relaxing together …’

‘Mr. Pendragon, if we wanted an amateur photograph then we would have hired an amateur photographer,’ Morgause said coldly but Arthur ignored her.

‘That’s right,’ he said encouragingly, coaxing Elena into a more relaxed pose. ‘Now just tilt your head up a bit. Perfect. Spread your legs a little for me-’

Morgause gave a snort at that but Arthur didn’t pay her any attention.

‘Lift your chin for me. Higher. Yes, that’s good, that’s great.’ Arthur pulled back, studying Elena. ‘Yes, that’s it. Hold it like that.’ Eyes still on Elena, he groped about for his camera, which was around his neck.

‘Wait!’ Morgause suddenly interrupted just as Arthur was bringing the camera to his face. Irritated, he turned to look at her. Scowling, Morgause stalked over.

‘This is it?’ she demanded, reaching out to snatch the camera out of Arthur’s hands. Arthur quickly stepped away so that her hand merely grasped hold of thin air. ‘This, Mr. Pendragon, is your camera?’ She looked down at it and her lip was actually curled in disgust.

‘Yes,’ Arthur said coolly. ‘And what of it?’

Morgause threw him a dirty look.

‘Where do I start? It’s old,’ she stated flatly. ‘It’s practically an antique. It’s clunky. You have no tripod. It’s a tourist camera, for goodness sakes, an amateur’s camera! Mr. Pendragon, you do recall what it was that I said about amateurs mere minutes ago, yes?’

‘Yes, I do in fact remember, _Miss_ Morgause,’ Arthur said, smiling tightly and deliberately leaving out Morgause’s title in the same way that she had been pointedly doing to the rest of them. ‘But please, don’t let it concern you. I have everything under control.’

‘What about the quality of the photograph?’ Morgause demanded angrily, hands on hips. ‘The resulting prints will be of low quality and small in size. We need large prints, clear prints. Or have you forgotten that you are now employed by a celebrated high-class fashion magazine?’

‘I have not forgotten,’ Arthur said icily. ‘And as I said – there is no need to worry. I have everything in hand. You will have your prints in the same size and quality that you are used to. Better, in all probability.’

‘Nonsense,’ Morgause sniffed. ‘I may not know as much about cameras as you do, Mr. Pendragon, but I know that you cannot get quality full-page prints from a camera such as _that_.’

‘You’re right,’ Arthur said lightly. He looked Morgause straight in the eyes. ‘You don’t know as much about cameras as I do. And you may be certain that I can do as I have said.’

‘I’ve never known anyone else be able to achieve such a thing,’ Morgause said suspiciously.

Arthur glanced briefly at her.

‘Not all of them are me,’ he said simply, before going back to fussing with his camera.

Still Morgause was not content.

‘It will take colour photographs?’ she demanded.

‘Yes,’ Arthur replied.

‘But the shot won’t be even,’ Morgause persisted. ‘You will need a tripod.’

‘I have steady hands,’ Arthur answered.

‘Well-’

‘Oh for heaven’s sake!’ Arthur pulled the camera from around his neck and, rounding on Morgause, thrust it at her. ‘Here. _You_ do it.’

Morgause stared.

‘I beg your pardon?’ 

‘You do it,’ Arthur said fiercely. ‘Since you seem to be under the impression that you could do a better job than I. Go ahead,’ he said, thrusting the camera at her once more. ‘Do it. Show us how it’s done.’

Morgause stared at him for a moment before scowling and turning away.

Satisfied, Arthur turned back to the chief matter at hand.

‘All right, Elena, turn for me – there’s a good girl.’ And with a grunt of satisfaction, he set to, all senses suddenly dulled to anything other than the camera and the scene in front of him. Occasionally he pulled away and rearranged Elena. Sometimes he would just stop and talk to her and, upon receiving the desired reaction – glee, laughter, displeasure – he would quickly raise his camera and snap off a picture, quick as lightning. 

Merlin, who was standing to the side watching the whole process, could not help but feel more than a little useless. He was used to Arthur photographing other people, of course – that was most the business Arthur did, after all – but somehow in this case it felt different. Perhaps it was because he actually had be present this time, or maybe it was because he was adrift in a foreign country and Arthur was the only person that he truly knew – whatever the reason was, he found himself envious of Elena and of the attention Arthur gave her.

Having to stand around aimlessly watching the others work wasn’t too much of a help either. Merlin found himself strangely longing to be Arthur’s model once more; a position that in the past he had been more than a little reluctant to accept. Feeling more than a little irritated with himself, Merlin forcibly squashed down his feelings of envy and instead concentrated on helping Arthur in any little way that he could, by helping to position Elena in or driving away any overly-curious passers-by.

A little while later, Arthur finally let out a sigh and lowered his camera, his face flushed red.

‘There,’ he said, pleased. ‘That will do. I’ve got what I wanted. Now how about some lunch?’

Everyone quickly agreed to the suggestion, although Morgause did not look as pleased as Arthur.

‘It’s all very well getting the pictures that _you_ want,’ she said haughtily. ‘Just make sure that you have the pictures that _we_ want as well.’

Arthur, as was his usual response to anything that Morgause said, simply ignored her.

‘So,’ he said, turning to Lancelot and smiling brightly at him. ‘I don’t suppose you know somewhere good for us to have lunch?’

Lancelot’s return smile was just as bright and warm as Arthur’s.

‘You know,’ he said, his eyes twinkling. ‘It just so happens that I know just the place …’

  


  
*****  


A short while later found them all standing outside a small, old-fashioned diner a little way off the beaten path. It was an old building but looked pleasant enough from the outside. Bright red cursive letters above the door said _Tom’s Diner_.

‘This is the place?’ Arthur asked.

Lance gave a single nod of confirmation.

‘This is it?’ he answered. ‘Best kept secret in Manhattan.’

‘Then what are we waiting for?’ Merlin asked cheerfully, starting forward. ‘I’m _starving_.’

The others followed but then had to pause when they saw that Lady Morgause wasn’t following.

‘Is everything all right, my Lady?’ Lancelot asked worriedly.

Morgause was regarding the area around her with a scrunched up nose.

‘Are you quite sure we are in the right place?’ she demanded.

Lancelot shifted uneasily.

‘My apologies, my Lady’ he said rather uncomfortably. ‘But Mr. Pendragon _did_ ask me to bring you all here.’ He cast an apprehensive look at Arthur even as Morgause’s lips pursed even tighter than normal.

Luckily, Arthur decided that this was the right moment to step in.

‘It’s all right,’ he said lightly, giving Morgause a smile of polite reassurance. ‘I did him to bring us here.’

Morgause’s left eyebrow twitched.

‘Is there any particular reason that you made this request?’ she asked, her eyes narrowing.

‘No, not really,’ he answered in a lazy drawl. ‘I merely thought that it would be something of an experience.’

It was unclear whether or not Morgause accepted this answer but it appeared that even she was hungry enough to put aside any other further questions for the moment. With a quick glare at Arthur, she set her jaw and began to stride forwards, joining the others as they made their way to the entrance of _Tom’s Diner_.

A bell tinkled as the door opened and Arthur took a moment to take in the room. Where the outside of the diner was rather drab-looking if neat, the inside was nothing short of warm and cheerful, with brightly coloured walls and a homey atmosphere that not even the garishly coloured plastic chairs could detract from. Strains of Chubby Checker drifted in from the strategically-placed speakers, infusing the place with friendliness and welcome. In addition, the smells wafting in from behind the counter were nothing short of mouth-watering. Arthur could tell in an instant that they had come to the right place. He turned to say as much to Lancelot, but he was too busy craning his neck to look over the counter for some reason.

They had just time enough to seat themselves and settle down when a pretty waitress arrived and stopped in front of them, menus in hand and a smile on her face.

‘Welcome to _Tom’s_ ,’ she said with genuine warmth. ‘My name is Gwen and I will be your waitress today. What can I get everyone to drink?’

As she took their orders, she gave a smile to each of them, widening when her eyes settled on Lancelot. Arthur noticed, as she put her pad away, that Lancelot was watching her with a hopelessly besotted look in his eyes and Arthur had to force himself not to let out a snort of amusement.

The moment that she was out of sight and the others had turned away either due to interest in their menus (Morgause) or otherwise in their conversation (Merlin and Elena), Arthur turned his head towards Lance.

‘Hey,’ he whispered, leaning forward across the table and nudging Lancelot with his knee. ‘What’s all _that_ about, then?’

Lancelot stared at him before blushing to the tips of his ears.

‘I’m afraid that I don’t know what you are talking about,’ he stammered.

‘Come off it,’ Arthur laughed. ‘Anyone can see that there’s something between the two of you. Are you dating?’

To his surprise, instead of blushing further a look of the deepest longing came over Lancelot’s face.

‘No,’ he sighed. ‘It is my – I have hoped – but no. I don’t think she sees me in that way.’

Arthur stared. ‘I beg your pardon?’ he asked.

‘Gwen,’ Lance said, the name coming out in a deep sigh. ‘I believe that she is the one for me, Arthur. I have known it for a long time – I have loved her from the moment that I first set eyes upon her.’

‘And how long had that been?’ Arthur asked shrewdly.

Lance gave him a rueful smile.

‘Two years.’

Arthur stared at him in amazement.

‘Do you mean to say,’ he said deliberately, enunciating every word. ‘That you have been coming to this diner for two years now and you have never even asked her out?’

‘Yes,’ Lancelot answered, refusing to wince. ‘But – you see – I never felt that it was my place to ask her.’

‘Why not?’ Arthur demanded, suddenly feeling irritated. ‘What could possibly keep you apart?’

‘Well, for one, I’m not sure that she likes me in that way,’ Lancelot replied, hurrying to add over Arthur’s loud scoff. ‘I know what you think, you know. You think that because she smiles at me and says hello that she likes me. But she smiles at _everyone_. She’s lovely and kind and considerate and she’s like that with everyone. What could possibly make me so different from the rest of them?’

Arthur raised an eyebrow and cast a lingering look over at Lance. The man was obviously completely oblivious to the fact that he looked like one of the models on the cover of one of those popular lady’s romance novels.

‘Yes, I wonder,’ he said dryly.

They were interrupted by Gwen’s return and both Arthur and Lancelot had to quickly skim through the menu so that they didn’t keep her waiting to take their orders.

‘It’s no good waiting,’ Arthur said when Gwen had finally left. ‘Two years … it’s an awfully long time, Lance. You can’t keep avoiding this. You have to ask her, if only to know. What’s the worst that could happen? Best case scenario? She accepts. Worst case? She says no and that’s that. You move on.’ At Lancelot’s doubtful look he gave an exasperated sigh. ‘You can’t keep mooning over someone you’ll never get to be with. You have to ask her. Let her know that you’re in the running.’ Arthur felt his gaze wander over to where Merlin was sat, laughing brightly over something that Elena had just said. ‘You have to give it your best shot. See if something’s there. Take a risk.’

‘You really think I should ask her?’ Lancelot asked hesitantly.

‘Yeah,’ Arthur answered, his mouth dry and his eyes still on Merlin.

‘And your really think that I have a chance?’

Arthur’s eyes swung back to Lancelot.

‘Yes,’ he said solemnly. ‘Absolutely.’

Lancelot watched him for a moment before giving a nod.

‘All right,’ he said resolutely. ‘I will. I’ll do it.’

‘Today?’ Arthur asked, arching an eyebrow.

Lance flushed slightly but after a moment, he straightened up.

‘All right,’ he said, determined. ‘Today. After we’ve eaten. I’ll ask her.’

‘Good,’ Arthur said, smiling. His eyes slowly swivelled back to Merlin. ‘That’s good.’

Their food arrived then and the table fell into silence for the next few minutes as they ate. The food was good – very good, in fact. Even Morgause could find no real fault with it, even though she tried her hardest to. By the end of the meal everyone had complimented Lancelot on his choice.

‘I wouldn’t mind coming back here every day,’ Merlin said with a happy sigh, looking down at his empty plate.

‘Me neither,’ Elena said brightly, looking happily around at the brightly-coloured walls.

Morgause merely grunted.

‘Then why don’t we?’ Arthur asked, pulling his post-luncheon cigarette away from his lips. ‘We need a base of operations whilst in Manhattan, after all.’

‘We have the hotel,’ Morgause cut in, her eyes narrowed.

Arthur waved her off.

‘I think I much prefer this place, don’t you?’ he asked casually.

Morgause wrinkled her nose.

‘The food may be tolerable enough,’ she said with a sniff. ‘But that doesn’t mean that I am at all impressed with the rest. This neighbourhood doesn’t appear to be quite – respectable if you know what I mean.’

Lancelot went red and it was clear that he was using all of his willpower to not take offence at Morgause’s words.

‘Oh I’m not a bigot or anything,’ Morgause said, noticing the rigid line of Lance’s back. ‘It’s merely that – being surrounded as it were … It makes one terribly uncomfortable, you know.’

‘I’m sure,’ Elena said dryly, clearly unimpressed.

Morgause sniffed, taking out her own cigarette and lighting it.

‘You’re children,’ she said haughtily. ‘You all have very new-fangled ideas. I was raised differently.’

Arthur said nothing. Morgause wasn’t all that much older than he was but she could very well have been brought up in a whole other century.

‘It’s all right,’ he said, leaning back in his seat. ‘You don’t have to join us if you don’t care to, Lady Morgause.’

Morgause just glared at him and stayed silent.

‘Well,’ Arthur said, turning around and flashing a smile at them all. ‘I guess that is that.’ He turned to Morgause. ‘Lunch was, of course, on _Camelot_ , yes?’

Morgause regarded him coldly before giving him one sharp nod.

‘Excellent,’ Arthur grinned, pleased. ‘Would you be so kind as to go up to the counter to settle the bill?’

‘Shouldn’t we wait for the waitress to do that?’ Morgause scowled.

‘No no,’ Arthur said hurriedly. ‘I’m sure she’s terribly busy. We should just pay now. We are on a schedule, after all, are we not? The New York Public Library awaits!’

Morgause still looked suspicious but apparently Arthur’s reasoning reassured her enough that she did as she was bid.

‘Come on,’ Arthur said, getting to his feet and ushering the others up as well. Catching Lance’s eye meaningfully, he jerked his head in the direction of Gwen the waitress, who was restocking the napkins off to the side of the diner. Lance glanced over when Arthur pointed and whipped his head away, blushing. After a moment, he raised his eyes back up to Arthur and with a sigh, gave him a nod.

‘Excellent,’ Arthur said, pleased. He caught Merlin and Elena looking at him strangely so he quickly added, ‘We can get back to business now.’

Elena sighed while Merlin rolled his eyes.

‘You and your camera,’ he said half fondly, half exasperatedly, making his way over to the door. ‘If I didn’t know what a lazy sod you are, I would accuse you of being a workaholic.’

‘Watch who you’re calling “lazy”,’ Arthur said, quirking an eyebrow. ‘I’m part of the landed gentry, and I will have you know that we are “otherwise occupied” as opposed to lazy.’

‘Yes, the only words we’d accept are “carefree” and perhaps “indolent”,’ Elena added seriously, though with a twinkle in her eye.

Merlin snorted.

‘Of course,’ he said dryly. ‘Because laziness is _such_ a plebeian occupation.’

‘You said it, not I,’ Arthur said with a shrug before Elena interrupted him.

‘Where did Lance go?’

‘Nowhere,’ Arthur said hurriedly, trying to usher them through the door but it was too late; Merlin and Elena had caught sight of the corner where Lance and Gwen were talking, heads close together.

‘Hey,’ Merlin said frowning. ‘What’s he doing over – oh!’ Suddenly his eyes went very round. ‘Oh! Does he _like_ -’

Arthur grabbed hold on him and quickly bundled him out of the diner.

‘Never you mind,’ he said briskly, letting go of Merlin and brushing down his jacket for him. 

‘But I-’ 

‘Quiet, you,’ Arthur said, still brushing at Merlin’s front. ‘Leave them alone.’

‘Can we at least peek?’ Merlin asked plaintively, seeming not to notice that he was being manhandled.

‘No,’ Arthur said gruffly, turning and levelling a glare at Elena, who was trying to peek through the glass door. ‘And that goes for you too.’

Merlin sighed and Elena pouted at him.

‘I’ll have none of that,’ Arthur said pointedly. He shook his head. ‘Just imagine someone spying on you while you were trying to court someone.’ He himself could imagine it all too well and he shuddered. ‘I can’t imagine that it would be welcome.’

‘S’pose not,’ Merlin mumbled.

Elena opened her mouth to say something but just then the door opened and Lancelot stumbled out, all but beaming.

‘I don’t suppose we need guess what happened,’ Arthur said wryly.

Lancelot merely sent him a besotted-looking smile.

‘What did she say Lance?’ Merlin asked eagerly.

‘What did _you_ say?’ Elena demanded.

Lancelot blinked before giving them a dazed smile.

‘She said yes,’ he said dreamily. ‘I asked her if she would be willing go to the movies some time, and she said yes!’

‘Well of course she did,’ Arthur said gruffly, clapping him on the back. ‘You only had to look at her to see that she was as besotted by you as you were by her.’

Lancelot turned to Arthur.

‘Thank you, my friend,’ he said gratefully. ‘Thank you for everything. I don’t know how long I would have – Thank you.’ He grasped Arthur’s hand. ‘I can only hope that you too are as lucky in love.’

Arthur flushed slightly and couldn’t keep his eyes from flicking over to Merlin for a brief moment. Merlin was looking right back at him, causing Arthur to turn away and clear his throat.

‘Right,’ he said awkwardly. ‘Well, that’s – I-’

Luckily though, Morgause chose that moment to storm out of the diner, breaking up the crowd that they had formed in front of the doors and pushing them on. Arthur, for once, was quite glad to see her.

‘Well,’ he said, turning to face the others. ‘Anyone interested in a visit to the library?’

  


  
*****  


That evening, after dinner, Merlin had just finished pulling on his pyjamas when there was a knock at the door. It took him a moment to realise that the sound had not come from the door leading to the hotel corridor, but rather from the door that connected his room to Arthur’s. That meant that his visitor could only be one person.

‘Coming!’ he announced, undoing the latch on the door. He had barely unlocked it when Arthur strode in and, in an act of supreme entitlement, turned and flung himself onto the bed.

‘I’m bored,’ he announced, waving a hand. ‘Entertain me.’

‘I beg your pardon?’ Merlin said.

Arthur scrunched his nose and pulled himself up, resting his weight on the palms of his hands behind him.

‘I said I’m _bored_ ,’ he whined. ‘Morgause sent us all off to have a nice early sleep but honestly? I haven’t slept so early since I was eight years old.’

‘Well get used to it,’ Merlin said darkly. ‘I don’t think she’d much appreciate it if we were up at all hours. I’m used to it though – I lived on a farm and da was very strict about getting us up early to help out.’ His expression faltered for a minute before he squinted at Arthur. ‘You look different.’

Arthur blinked at him.

‘How so?’ he enquired, and then pausing before adding, ‘Good different or bad different?’

Merlin cocked his head to the side and squinted.

‘Good different,’ he decided, before flushing slightly. ‘I mean – not enormously different. Just. Different.’ He suddenly grinned. ‘I guess it’s because you’re in your night things and not all dressed up in your expensive togs and with a whole bottle of oil in your hair.’

Arthur tossed his head at that and gave a loud sniff.

‘I’ll have you know that I use _Brylcreem_ ,’ he said haughtily. ‘And only a dab, too.’

Merlin chuckled at that and after a moment, so did Arthur.

‘So,’ Merlin said, throwing himself down on the bed beside Arthur. ‘What did you want?’

‘I told you,’ Arthur said, lying back down on the bed alongside Merlin, feeling the tiniest thrill run through him as he did so. ‘I’m bored.’

‘And what do you expect me to do about it, pray tell?’

‘Entertain me, of course,’ Arthur said, as if it were obvious. ‘You _are_ my assistant, after all. I practically own you.’

‘And I am thoroughly grateful for it, from the bottom of my little proletarian heart,’ Merlin remarked dryly.

Arthur turned and regarded him narrowly.

‘You know, you have quite the chip on your shoulder,’ he said, patting at his pyjama pocket and sighing in frustration when he realised that he didn’t keep any there. ‘I don’t suppose you have any smokes on you, do you?’

‘Nope,’ Merlin shook his head. ‘I don’t smoke, remember?’

Arthur turned towards him with a raised eyebrow.

‘I must say I hadn’t noticed,’ he said. ‘Whatever do you do with yourself?’

‘I manage,’ Merlin said, quirking a smile. ‘And I’d prefer it if you didn’t smoke in here, either.’

Arthur shrugged.

‘Suit yourself,’ he said, leaning back. ‘Your room, your rules, I suppose.’

‘Thank you,’ Merlin said with a smile, closing his eyes.

They were both silent for a moment.

‘So how do you think the day went?’ Merlin asked in a quiet voice. ‘The photographs, I mean. Are you happy with them?’

Arthur didn’t reply immediately.

‘I suppose,’ he said at last, but there was a hint of hesitance in his reply. ‘They’re good, the pictures, I know that. Very good, in fact. It’s just …’ And he trailed off uncertainly.

Merlin frowned and turned over so that he was facing him.

‘What?’ he asked Arthur.

‘It’s-’ Arthur paused before ploughing ahead. ‘It’s just that they could be so much better. They’re photographs – a pretty girl in front of the Empire State building, the Public Library – it’s all been done. Repeatedly. By every damned professional and unprofessional photographer on both sides of the pond! They want this photo shoot to be new and exciting but there’s only so much that I can do – that New York can do – when they insist upon us shooting and re-shooting the same tired landmarks again and again!’

‘So,’ Merlin said slowly, calmly. ‘What is it that you suggest that we do?’

Arthur’s eyes flicked up and he held Merlin’s gaze, slowly calming down with each moment that their eyes were connected.

‘What makes you think that I have a plan already?’ he asked, tilting his head.

Merlin gave him a look.

‘I know you Arthur,’ he said quietly. ‘And I know how you work. You can’t _not_ see the possibilities around you while you’re working. All the time you were photographing Elena – all that time you had that sense of dissatisfaction niggling at you – you must have known that you had something better. Something that you want.’

A wide smile broke out over Arthur’s face. ‘Well what do you know,’ he said softly. ‘Perhaps you really do know me.’

Merlin’s return smile was small and shy.

‘We’ve worked together for a while now,’ he murmured, lowering his eyes. 

‘Yes we have,’ Arthur agreed. He watched Merlin with and found himself murmuring, ‘I wish that it was you that I was photographing out there …’

Merlin’s breath caught and the tips of his ears began to turn red. Trying to head it off, Merlin quickly cleared his throat and shook his head, lifting his chin up so that he looked straight into Arthur’s eyes.

‘So,’ he said, clearing his throat again and trying to change the subject. ‘What did you say your plan was?’

‘I didn’t,’ Arthur answered. ‘But-’ he hesitated. ‘I’m not sure – no, I’m positive that Morgause won’t like it.’

Merlin’s lips twitched.

‘Then isn’t that all the more reason to do it?’ he asked, a sly smile pulling at his lips.

Arthur stared at Merlin, before his mouth also spread out in a wicked smile.

‘And people say that _I’m_ a trouble-maker …’ he murmured.

  


  
*****  


The next day found the group on the world-famous Fifth Avenue, outside St. Patrick’s Cathedral, staring up at the stone-hewed building that seemed to have been randomly transplanted out of somewhere in Europe and dropped mystifyingly in the centre of a roiling city of steel and glass and skyscrapers. Staring up at the building, Elena, Merlin and Arthur each had identical looks of bemusement on their faces.

‘It’s …’ Elena began but trailed off.

‘It’s a nice cathedral,’ Merlin said, trying to find something nice to say.

‘Oh yes,’ Arthur said dryly, pulling out a cigarette and lighting it. ‘It’s a very nice cathedral, lovely. But what on earth is it doing _here_?’

Lancelot looked between them and the cathedral with a frown.

‘I’m not sure what the problem is,’ he said. ‘I guess it’s a little out of place …’

The others all scoffed.

‘But don’t you see – that’s the beauty of New York!’ Lance turned and beamed at them all earnestly. ‘It’s a place where the old sits side by side with the new.’

‘That’s all very well,’ Morgause interrupted them. ‘But none of this is helping us get the job done. Now if you don’t mind, can we please set this up and get it over with? There are an awful lot of people around and I detest being ogled and eyed by complete strangers. Besides,’ she added with a sniff. ‘I had hoped to do some shopping whilst on this trip – both for myself and for _Camelot_.’

‘Yes, yes,’ Arthur said vaguely. ‘I understand, of course, Lady Morgause. But do bear in mind that this is a professional photo shoot. You can’t rush art, you know.’

Morgause’s lips thinned and her nostrils flared and it seemed that it was only her formidable will power that kept her from sneering about the idea of photographs as art.

‘So,’ Elena said, curbing the hint of animosity that was creeping in from Arthur and Morgause. ‘Where do you want me?’ 

Merlin, who was standing to Elena’s right, caught Arthur’s eye and gave him an encouraging nod.

‘Right,’ Arthur said, moving away from his place by Lancelot and grabbing hold of Elena. ‘If you would just stand …’ he hummed to himself, considering. ‘…here. Here’s perfect. Just lift your chin for me.’ He stepped back and took hold of his camera, bringing it to his face.

‘Wait.’ Morgause suddenly interrupted. She stepped forward with a frown. ‘That’s where you’re taking the picture from? There?’

Arthur glanced up from his camera, innocent expression in place.

‘Yes?’ he responded innocently. ‘Is there a problem?’

Morgause’s eyes narrowed.

‘Yes,’ she said through gritted teeth. ‘The problem is that you are too near. You’re not going to get any of the building! Just these – people!’

‘Yes, I realise that,’ Arthur said calmly. ‘And those people happen to be the congregation.’ The others looked and indeed, the vast majority of the people entering the cathedral were there to worship. ‘Look at them, all dressed so very conservatively. I think Ellie and her clothes make a great contrast against that.’

‘But we’re supposed to get the building,’ Morgause hissed, drawing closer to Arthur in her agitation. ‘That’s the whole point! What use is it taking pictures of people? This could be from anywhere! We need the cathedral!’

‘The blasted cathedral could be from anywhere!’ Arthur burst out, exasperated. ‘It could have been plucked from England or France or Rome or Germany – who cares? Can you really tell the difference? It’s not the most important or interesting thing about the picture – the people are!’ He glared at Morgause before turning back to the scene in front of him. ‘Now, if you don’t mind, I would really like to get back to taking my pictures.’ And with that, he raised up his camera and proceeded to ignore Morgause.

Morgause spent the next hour complaining loudly and throwing dagger-eyed glares at Arthur. Being crossed had clearly put her in a foul mood, which she took out on poor Lance, making him run half-way around the city for her in search of the perfect cup of tea. Needless to say, she was highly dissatisfied with every cup that he returned with, making the photo shoot endlessly awkward.

‘I need more contrast,’ Arthur said at one point, pulling away from the camera and frowning. Turning to Merlin, he asked, ‘Do we have different-coloured coat for her? Something darker? That monochrome one that we talked about earlier – did you bring it?’

Merlin nodded and immediately reached into the large bag that he had been carrying around. 

‘Here Ellie,’ Arthur said, pulling the coat out of Merlin’s hands and making Morgause wince at the rough treatment. ‘Put this one on instead.’

Elena dutifully swapped her mint green coat for the black and white one instead.

‘Good,’ Arthur said. ‘No, don’t do it up. Merlin, help her would you? I just want one side close – over her chest, yes – and the other one should be open. Wide open, so we can see her dress. Okay?’

‘Got it,’ Merlin said briskly, pulling away.

‘Perfect,’ Arthur smiled. ‘Now just spread your right leg out a little, Elena, that’s right, so that your coat billows out and – yes, that’s right – now give me a big smile …’

The next couple of minutes were taken up by Arthur furiously snapping out photographs and asking Elena to change poses.

‘Perfect,’ he said again after a few minutes, straightening up. ‘That’s lovely. Merlin, help her with her things again, will you?’ For Elena somehow seemed to have got a strand of her hair caught around a button on the cuff of her coat.

Shaking his head with a smile, Merlin did as he was told. He and Elena wrestled with the coat for a moment, but when each found the other to be as clumsy as they were, they both began to laugh, bodies curving into each other in their shared mirth.

Arthur blinked. Then, without a word, he brought his camera back up to his face and began to take pictures. 

At first neither Merlin nor Elena noticed, but Morgause’s sudden interruption made them both turn around, pausing in mid-action.

‘What do you think you are doing?’ Morgause demanded, hands on hips. ‘In case you did not notice, your assistant is in the picture!’

‘Oh I noticed,’ Arthur muttered, still continuing to photograph the pair in front of him.

Morgause stared at him in shock.

‘What are you doing?’ she hissed. ‘Please remember that this is a photo shoot for _Camelot_ , not for your own personal collection of fantasy photographs!’

Arthur’s head jerked towards her at that and with some effort he prevented himself from flushing like a naughty schoolboy.

‘For your information,’ he said haughtily. ‘The photographs I’m taking are for _Camelot_.’

‘Explain yourself!’ Morgause snapped, clearly not believing a word of it.

‘Well,’ Arthur said, trying his best to be patient. ‘I wanted contrast, didn’t I?’ He nodded towards the two figures in front of him. ‘I think the two of them contrast quite well, don’t you think?’

Morgause snorted. 

‘Next you’ll be thinking of adding Mr. du Lac to the mix!’ she sneered, blanching slightly when she saw Arthur’s suddenly speculative look.

‘Oh no!’ Lance said quickly, eyes wide. ‘No thank you – I’d really much rather not, if you please.’

Arthur gave a shrug and sighed.

‘Pity,’ he said, flashing a smile at Lance.

Morgause, meanwhile, was still trying to talk Arthur out of letting Merlin in the shot.

‘He’s not even dressed for it!’ she bemoaned, sounding genuinely quite distressed. ‘We’re a fashion magazine, we’re trying to show off fashions!’

‘The coat he’s wearing is from this season,’ Arthur said distractedly, going back to taking his pictures. ‘I lent it to him this morning, he didn’t have anything warm enough otherwise.’

Morgause gave a loud sniff at that and glared at Arthur, her nose turning up in a sneer. 

‘Your father will be hearing about this,’ she said determinedly. ‘And your sister. I will be writing to them tonight. I shouldn’t be surprised if we had a new photographer in place by the end of the week.’

Arthur shrugged and went back to concentrating on the task in front of him.

‘For goodness sakes, this is not a holiday!’ Morgause burst out, clearly frustrated at the way that Arthur didn’t seem to at all care about her opinion. ‘You do not get to sweep in here and do whatever you like! You are being paid to do what we want, and what we want is not this!’

‘That’s because you haven’t seen the pictures yet,’ Arthur said calmly. ‘You wait till you see them – you will be wanting them then!’

‘I seriously doubt it,’ Morgause bit out.

Her bad mood lasted the rest of the day, even through lunch at _Tom’s Diner_ and afterwards during their photo shoot at Central Park.

The others didn’t mind so much though; as long as Morgause simply glared at them and kept her thin mouth pressed together, they could pretend that she wasn’t there, which is precisely what they did.

Consequently, that day in Manhattan proved to be their happiest yet.

  


  
*****  


‘Today was good,’ Arthur said happily, reclining on Merlin’s bed with a pleased smile on his face. ‘I enjoyed it.’

‘Me too,’ Merlin said. He bit his lip and looked up at Arthur. ‘I didn’t know that part of your plan was to take pictures of me, though.’

‘Yeah,’ Arthur sat up, his face slightly pinched. ‘I didn’t know that either. I hadn’t planned it, you know. It just … happened. I saw you and Elena together and thought that – that you two looked good together.’

Merlin looked down at the floor again.

‘You know,’ he said casually. ‘You have quite the same colouring as Elena,’

Arthur’s eyes flicked over to Merlin, who was determinedly not meeting Arthur’s gaze.

‘Yes,’ he said slowly. ‘I suppose that’s true.’

Neither of them spoke for a moment.

‘Well,’ Merlin said brightly. ‘You tested the waters today, with some success. So what now?’

Arthur let out a breath.

‘Now?’ he asked, leaning back. ‘Now I do what I want.’

‘And what’s that?’ Merlin asked eagerly.

‘I do away with all this “famous landmark” nonsense,’ Arthur said, waving a hand. ‘It’s been done by every Tom, Dick and Harry to have photographed Manhattan. It’s New York, yes, but only the public face. I want the private one – the one that outsiders don’t look for and that only the inhabitants see.’

‘Ah,’ Merlin said thoughtfully, chewing his lip. ‘You mean like the “secret” New York?’

Arthur turned and gave Merlin a smile.

‘Something like that,’ he said, smiling. ‘We’ll get Lance to show us about his New York, all the places that he thinks are special. It will make the photographs more personal, I think.’

‘Mmm,’ Merlin nodded thoughtfully. ‘And we should get some at _Tom’s Diner_ as well – I’m sure they wouldn’t mind a bit of publicity. And it’s not like we get places like that back home.’

‘True,’ Arthur said, nodding. ‘We’ll try and get that in tomorrow.’

They both sat in silence for a minute.

‘You know that Morgause isn’t going to take this sitting down?’ Merlin said finally. ‘That she’s going to be spitting mad when she realises what we’re doing?’

‘Let her,’ Arthur snorted. ‘She’s not going to stop me. She’ll try, I’m sure, but she won’t.’ His haughty look slowly faded into grimness. ‘She’s probably writing to Father and Morgana at this very minute,’ he added, scowling now. ‘Bleeding harpy.’

‘I’m sure nothing will happen,’ Merlin said hesitantly. ‘I’m sure they trust your judgement. They’re your family. Besides, they wouldn’t have chosen you unless they’d trusted you.’

Arthur gave a short laugh.

‘You think they’d take my word over that of Lady Morgause?’ He shook his head. ‘You have no idea. Remember, my father’s the one who ruined yours – he and I don’t exactly get on.’

‘Oh,’ Merlin said in a subdued voice. ‘I’m sorry.’

‘Yeah,’ Arthur said, unable to keep the bitterness out of his voice. ‘Yeah, so am I.’

Neither of them spoke. Then:

‘Damn,’ Arthur swore, patting at the pockets of his dressing gown and scowling. ‘I really wish I had a fag right now.’

‘I don’t,’ Merlin said immediately. ‘You really smoke far too much, you know.’

Arthur just grunted something under his breath.

‘Seriously,’ Merlin persisted. ‘It’s bad for you. You have heard all those reports, yes? Those ones that say that smoking causes cancer and all that.’

‘Yes, yes, I’ve heard,’ Arthur said crossly. ‘They’re always saying something. Everybody smokes, Merlin.’

‘I don’t!’ Merlin piped up.

‘Yes, well,’ Arthur gave him a wry look. ‘You’re just odd.’

‘Shut it, you,’ Merlin scolded. ‘But you should quitting. It can’t hurt to cut down. Besides,’ he added with a grin, ‘maybe then you won’t start wheezing like a horse when you climb up the stairs. And I won’t have to keep sticking my head out of the window and trying to avoid you when you start smelling like you’ve swallowed a chimney.’

‘So that’s why you never seem to be around,’ Arthur grumbled but he couldn’t help smiling.

‘And just think,’ Merlin continued, getting into the theme. ‘The next time you want to kiss someone, they will actually enjoy it.’

Slowly Arthur turned and stared at Merlin. A small light seemed to go off in his head.

‘I mean it though,’ Merlin said, obviously unaware of Arthur’s sudden change in thought. ‘Please, Arthur. Try. For me.’

It took Arthur a moment to remember what it was that they had been talking about – unfortunately not kissing. He shook his head.

‘Fine,’ he said reluctantly. ‘I’ll try to cut down. I’m not promising anything, but – I’ll try.’ He wasn’t sure why he was agreeing to do this, but … but that was a lie. He was perfectly aware of why.

‘Good,’ Merlin said, smiling brilliantly at him. ‘Good, I’m glad.’

And with that he too lay back on the bed and shut his eyes, the skin of his little finger barely touching the skin on the back of Arthur’s hand.

Taking a deep breath, Arthur tipped his head back and closed his eyes.

  


  
*****  


‘This is ridiculous!’ Morgause raged, for what had to be the tenth time that day. ‘We are here to take pictures of New York’s monuments, not of its pavements!’

‘The pavements are just as much part of Manhattan as the buildings are,’ Arthur said patiently. ‘And I believe here, the term they use, is sidewalk, not “pavement”. Just ask my good friend Mr. du Lac here.’

‘It’s true,’ Lance nodded, and then promptly ducked his head as Morgause threw a venomous glance his way.

  


  
*****  


‘Hi Gwen,’ Arthur beamed at the waitress. ‘Can I ask you a favour?’

‘Oh,’ Gwen looked flustered for a moment. She glanced up at him from under her eyelashes. ‘What favour?’

‘Well,’ Arthur said, throwing his arm around a surprised Lance who was sitting next to him. ‘Lance here is always telling us about what a brilliant and iconic landmark this place is …’

Gwen’s eyes lit up and she blushed bright red, looking at Lance with a glowing expression.

‘…And so we were just wondering – would you mind terribly if we took some pictures of the _Diner_? I can’t guarantee that they will be published of course-’

‘I should hope not!’ Morgause interrupted fervently.

‘-but there is a good chance that they will be,’ Arthur said, firmly ignoring Morgause. ‘Would you be all right with that, do you think?’

Gwen didn’t even have to think.

‘Of course!’ she answered, still a little flustered but pleased nonetheless. ‘I – We would be honoured. Papa will be over the moon!’

‘Glad to hear it,’ Arthur grinned, throwing a sly glance at Morgause from out of the corner of his eye. ‘But – before we start all that – how about some of that delicious apple pie that I can tell you are baking? The smell has been driving me to distraction since the moment I walked in here. May I have a slice?’

‘Make that two,’ Merlin said quickly.

‘Three!’ Elena added.

‘Four, please,’ Lance said, gazing adoringly at Gwen.

Everyone then turned to look at Morgause. 

She stared back for a moment before rolling her eyes and sighing.

‘Make it five,’ she said grumpily, before going back to scowling at the table.

  


  
*****  


‘Make sure she changes into the second outfit,’ Arthur called out to Merlin, waiting impatiently outside of the room where he was helping Elena to get dressed. ‘That little green dress. And make sure that she doesn’t forget to wear those black beads around her neck-’

‘Or that she doesn’t break them,’ Morgause muttered from beside him. It wouldn’t be the first accident that had occurred around Elena, not by a long shot.

‘-And make sure that that she’s wearing those black boots-’ Arthur began before he was interrupted:

‘We know!’ Arthur winced as the combined voices of Merlin and Elena reached his ears. Muttering sulkily to himself, she slumped back against the wall.

‘You could help out a little, you know,’ he said darkly, glaring at Morgause.

Morgause merely sniffed.

‘Oh no,’ she said. ‘You wanted complete artistic direction over this project and now you have it. I wouldn’t dream of stepping on your toes.’ She ignored the look Arthur sent her. ‘By the way,’ she added almost casually. ‘I sent a letter to your father and Lady Morgana, updating them on our progress.’

Arthur’s back stiffened.

‘Oh?’ he asked cautiously.

‘Yes,’ Morgause continued, carelessly glancing down at her nails. ‘I expect to hear from them quite soon.’

‘Right,’ Arthur said tonelessly.

‘Yes,’ Morgause smiled. ‘I just mentioned it in case you receive any communication from them in the next few days.’

‘Very kind of you, I’m sure,’ Arthur grumbled. He paused, before adding: ‘Do you expect me to hear from them?’

Morgause gave him a shrug that was almost Gallic in nature, a far cry from her usual stiff bearing and posture. Arthur could almost see her suppressed glee despite the blank expression on her face.

‘Who knows?’ she murmured. ‘It is, of course, up to them. That being said, I must admit that I shouldn’t be at all surprised if they did …’

Arthur scowled and turned away. He didn’t want to hear any more. Instead, he raised a fist, reached over and rapped his knuckles sharply against the door of Elena’s hotel room.

‘Hurry up in there,’ he growled. ‘We’re wasting time!’

‘Coming!’ came the yell from inside the room.

Beside him, Morgause leant back against the wall, a satisfied little smile on her lips.

  


  
*****  


Arthur lay on the bed, poker straight, staring up at the ceiling.

He was about to make a last valiant, if sluggish effort to get up from the mattress when there was a knock on the connecting room door. Thwarted, Arthur slumped back onto the bed.

‘Come in!’ he called. ‘It’s open!’

There was the sound of fumbling at the door handle and a moment later the door was pushed open and Merlin’s head popped through.

‘All right?’ he asked awkwardly.

Arthur just looked at him.

Merlin squirmed slightly.

‘May I come in?’ he asked after a beat.

Arthur rolled his eyes.

‘I did say so, didn’t I?’ he said in a long-suffering tone.

‘Yes, well,’ Merlin gave him an apologetic smile before slipping through the door and shutting it behind him. He paused on the threshold for a moment, fidgeting, before moving forwards. Then, with another cautious look at Arthur, he plopped himself gently on the bed beside the area where Arthur was sprawled out.

‘So,’ he began after a moment. ‘What’s wrong with you?’

Arthur blinked and slowly turned his gaze on Merlin.

‘I don’t know. What’s wrong with _you_?’

Merlin let out an exasperated sigh and turned to face Arthur more fully.

‘You know what I mean,’ he said pointedly. ‘You’ve been in a right mood today. All that growling and glaring. Ellie was quite alarmed by it all, I can tell you. Lance too.’

Arthur grunted.

‘Not to mention how you didn’t stop by my room after dinner,’ Merlin continued. ‘Which was probably the biggest clue that you weren’t in the best mood.’

‘Maybe I was just wondering why you couldn’t come to my room for once,’ Arthur grumbled childishly.

‘Well, I’m here now!’ Merlin gave him a cheerful smile. ‘You feel happier now?’

Arthur threw Merlin a dirty look and made to turn away.

‘Oh no you don’t,’ Merlin said, a determined expression on his face. He reached out and hauled Arthur around so that they were facing each other. ‘Something’s eating at you, and you’re going to tell me what it is.’

Arthur mumbled and tried to turn his head, but Merlin had a surprisingly strong grip.

‘Stop being childish,’ Merlin scolded. Then he frowned, leaned closer to Arthur’s face and sniffed. He wrinkled his nose. ‘Have you been drinking?’

‘I have,’ Arthur nodded. ‘You said I shouldn’t smoke. So I didn’t. I drank instead. And what of it?’

Merlin shrugged.

‘Nothing,’ he said calmly. ‘It’s just that it’s not like you to get plastered like this.’

‘M’not plastered,’ Arthur grumbled. ‘And how would you know, anyway?’

Merlin raised an eyebrow.

‘I know, Arthur,’ he said, poking Arthur in the stomach. ‘We are friends, you know.’

‘Ugh, your fingers are bony,’ Arthur said unhappily, shuffling up the bed. He glared accusingly at Merlin. ‘And I don’t want to be friends.’

‘You don’t?’ Merlin asked, confused.

‘No,’ Arthur confirmed. ‘Never did.’

‘…Oh,’ Merlin moved away at that, or at least tried to; Arthur caught his hand and brought it to his chest, clinging on to him tightly.

‘Not that it matters,’ Arthur sighed. ‘It’s not like you can take a hint or anything.’ He gave Merlin a reproachful look.

‘Er – sorry?’ Merlin said, mystified.

‘It’s okay,’ Arthur patted the back of Merlin’s hand. ‘That’s just who you are. God knows why I like you so much.’

Merlin blinked before shaking his head. With a sigh, he slowly lay himself down next to Arthur his hand still trapped close to Arthur’s chest.

‘What’s wrong?’ he asked softly, his eyes fixed on Arthur’s.

Arthur blinked up at him for a moment. Then he let out a loud, heart-felt sigh.

‘Morgause,’ he muttered. ‘Lady Morgause. She’s written home about us – about our progress.’

‘Oh,’ Merlin said. Then: ‘ _Oh!_ ’

‘Yeah,’ Arthur smiled bleakly. ‘She was also kind enough to alert me to that fact that I may receive word from London any day now. You can guess what those words will probably be.’

‘Oh dear,’ Merlin said, biting his lip. ‘Oh no. That _cow_.’

‘Yeah,’ Arthur grimaced. ‘Hence the bad mood. And the drinking.’

‘But they wouldn’t though, would they?’ Merlin asked worriedly. ‘Fire you, I mean?’

Arthur shrugged. ‘Who knows? It’s not as if they are thrilled with what I do – well, Father isn’t at any rate and lord knows what Morgana’s opinion is … I’m just saying, I wouldn’t be surprised if I got a wire in the next few days telling me that I’ve been fired and that I had best toddle back home to England with my tail firmly between my legs.’

‘But they haven’t even seen you work!’ Merlin protested, outraged. ‘That can’t just judge it on Morgause’s word. She’s always had it in for us!’

‘You haven’t seen the pictures either,’ Arthur reminded Merlin, but Merlin brushed that off.

‘No need,’ he said confidently. ‘You seem to have forgotten – I’ve been working with you-’

‘For me.’

‘-for you,’ Merlin rolled his eyes, ‘for a while now. I know how you work. I’ve seen the finished products. Arthur – you’re brilliant.’

Arthur didn’t say anything for a moment. 

‘Y-You mean it?’ he eventually asked in a small voice. ‘You really think so?’

‘Of course!’ Merlin said indignantly. ‘I wouldn’t say so if I didn’t! I probably wouldn’t have put up with you and your picture-taking either, if I didn’t think that you were any good.’

‘Oh,’ Arthur’s expression eased. ‘That’s – that’s good to hear.’

Merlin cocked his head.

‘Don’t tell me that the great Arthur Pendragon was having doubts about himself?’ he asked teasingly. 

Arthur ducked his head. 

‘I don’t know, Merlin,’ he said tiredly. ‘Sometimes – sometimes I wonder. Is what I’m doing really any good, or is just me who thinks so? What if it’s actually rubbish and I’m just like those pretentious idiots who like modern art? Or even worse – I’m one of those idiots who _create_ modern art?’

‘I think modern artists might resent that,’ Merlin said lightly.

Arthur snorted. 

‘Let them,’ he grunted before sobering. ‘But in all seriousness – I do worry sometimes. It’s just - what if I am just another rich, spoilt brat who thinks he’s better than he really is?’

‘You’re not,’ Merlin said firmly. ‘And you know why, Arthur? Because you’re good. Really good. You have something – something that not many people have. I can’t explain it, but – but never doubt yourself Arthur. You are that good. And if your father and sister have any sense at all in their heads, then they will see it too. And then, so will everyone else.’

Arthur raised an eyebrow.

‘Even Morgause?’ he asked, a wry smile tugging at his lips.

Merlin grimaced.

‘I wouldn’t get my hopes up there, I’m afraid,’ he said apologetically. ‘She has it in for us.’

‘She’s always hated me,’ Arthur admitted. ‘Probably because I always thought that she was a moody old bat and wasn’t afraid to let her know that. Not sure why she hates the rest of you, though.’

Merlin huffed out a laugh.

‘That’s not exactly a difficult question,’ he said dryly. ‘If the fact that we’re all friends of yours doesn’t do it, then first there’s Ellie being a rather – shall we say, unique – model and the last person that Morgause would have chosen for such a project; and then there’s me: a lowly little Welsh boy whose blood is as far from blue as it is possible to be, unlike the rest of you.’

Arthur snorted.

‘And then there’s the fact that she-’ Merlin suddenly blushed and stopped speaking.

Arthur raised his head at that.

‘She what?’ he asked curiously.

Merlin winced. He threw Arthur an apologetic look.

‘She – she keeps turning her nose up at me and muttering things about me being your “bit on the side”,’ Merlin mumbled, squirming uncomfortably under Arthur’s gaze. 

Arthur’s jaw dropped. ‘My what?’

‘You know,’ Merlin said, wincing. ‘Your – well – you know.’

‘Yes, I know what she thinks,’ Arthur waved that away impatiently. ‘But why on earth does she think that? We’ve not done anything to make her think that!’

‘Well, you do have a reputation,’ Merlin said.

Arthur scowled.

‘That’s neither here nor there,’ he said. ‘And she has no right to think such things! And to say them in your presence!’ He screwed his face up in indignation. ‘She is most certainly not a lady!’

Merlin let out a bark of laughter.

‘Oh Arthur,’ he said fondly, rubbing at his face. ‘You – sometimes you’re so modern and radical and challenging – and then the next minute you turn around and say something like that!’

‘Like what?’ Arthur demanded.

‘You know,’ Merlin shrugged. ‘All chivalrous and the like. It’s okay, you know. What Morgause said. No need to worry – I’m no fainting damsel. I’m used to it.’ When Arthur tilted his head questioningly, Merlin shrugged. ‘I’m a young lad from Wales. You should hear what some people say about our relationship with sheep.’

Arthur hid a blush at that and cleared his throat.

‘So,’ he said instead. ‘You don’t mind people going about saying that we’re sleeping together?’

Merlin shrugged.

‘Well, it’s better than sheep,’ he said lamely.

‘I should hope so!’ Arthur said, brazen once more. ‘It’s an honour, you know, getting a buggering from a Pendragon.’

There was a pause.

Merlin stared at Arthur.

Arthur stared back.

‘It’s very late,’ Arthur said quickly, at the same moment as Merlin announced, ‘I had better go to bed.’

They stopped and stared at each other again.

‘Well – goodnight then,’ Merlin said, getting up from the bed and standing awkwardly by Arthur’s feet.

‘Goodnight,’ Arthur tried for a tight little smile.

Merlin stood there for a minute before giving a nod and walking towards his room, opening the door, walking through it and shutting it firmly behind him. Arthur listened for the sound of a key turning in the lock but no sound came. 

Sighing, he leaned back in the bed and closed his eyes with a grimace.

God, he needed a fag.

  


  
*****  


‘I really wish you wouldn’t pull that boy into these photographs,’ Morgause sniffed in distaste as she watched Merlin and Elena pose together against a building. ‘We don’t want him. It’s a single-model shoot – a single female model, I might add – and I haven’t the slightest clue as to why you think that he needs to be in the picture. Apart from his being completely unnecessary, he’s also ridiculously plain. At the very least choose someone else to be in the picture. Mr. du Lac, for example.’

Lancelot looked up in alarm at that, but calmed down when he saw the expression on Arthur’s face.

Arthur had initially pretended to ignore Morgause but by the end of her complaint he couldn’t take it any longer.

‘Plain?’ he burst out, ripping his face away from the camera and boiling over with indignation. ‘Plain? Are you blind? Can you not see him? How can you think – do you know nothing? How on earth are you even in this business?’

Morgause, initially stunned into stillness by his tirade, quickly unfroze, her features tightening with fury.

‘How dare you!’ she hissed. ‘I – I will not listen to this!’

And with a huff of anger, she stalked away. A moment later:

‘Lancelot!’

Lance winced and, with an apologetic look at the others, quickly hurried away after Lady Morgause.

Arthur, face still red, turned back to Merlin and Elena, forcibly trying to calm himself down. He caught Merlin looking at him with an odd expression on his face and instead of scowling, he simply held the gaze, his focus unwavering. After a few moments Merlin looked away, as if unable to hold the gaze.

Letting out a deep breath, Arthur lowered his eyes.

‘Same position as before,’ he ordered gruffly. ‘And this time make sure that your arm’s not crooked. Go!’

Sighing, he raised his camera.

  


  
*****  


‘I got a letter today,’ Arthur announced when Merlin stepped through the door and into his room.

Merlin stilled, his expression immediately morphing into one of concern.

‘Oh?’

‘Yeah.’ Arthur rolled over and turned his head towards Merlin. ‘From London. It’s my sister.’

‘What did she say?’ Merlin asked anxiously, moving forward.

Arthur shrugged as best one could whilst lying down.

‘Not much,’ he said. ‘Only what was expected.’

‘She fired you?’ Merlin gasped.

Arthur’s head jerked up.

‘What? Oh no,’ he quickly shook his head. ‘Nothing like that. Well – nothing specifically like that anyway.’

‘Meaning …?’

Arthur sighed.

‘A lot of it was the usual inane pleasantries that you find in such letters but there were also warnings to behave and to ‘listen to Lady Morgause’ and such. Basically, the letter amounted to a number of thinly-veiled warnings that I was walking on thin ice and that if I wasn’t a good boy then I would be given a spanking and be sent home. Actually, that part wasn’t very thinly-veiled. Morgana actually threatened to have me spanked if I didn’t cooperate.’

Merlin opened his mouth but, not knowing what to say in response to that, promptly shut it again.

‘But apart from that – I think we’re safe. For now, at least,’ Arthur sighed and ran a hand through his hair. ‘But I think – perhaps I had better give a bit more consideration to Morgause. You know – pacify her. Just a bit, mind – enough for her to get off our backs about the other stuff we do.’

‘Oh – all right,’ Merlin said, shrugging. ‘It’s your call. You are the artist, after all.’

‘Yes,’ Arthur murmured, mostly to himself. ‘We haven’t done the Statue of Liberty yet … that ought to keep her happy for the time being.’

‘Sounds like a good idea to me,’ Merlin said after a pause. ‘Maybe she’ll soften up to us if we do what she wants for a while.’

Arthur huffed a laugh. 

‘Morgause? Soften up?’ he snorted. ‘I hardly think so. But it might make her believe that she’s won some leeway, though, enough for her to stop pushing us – at least for a while.’

‘Hmm,’ Merlin nodded. Then, because he was still slightly anxious: ‘But you are all right, aren’t you? About everything? The letter, I mean.’

‘I suppose,’ Arthur shrugged. ‘Not like I wasn’t expecting it. And Morgana’s always had a bit of a soft spot for Morgause. Evil harpies, the both of them, that’s why.’ He sighed. ‘But I do wish that she – that they – would have more confidence in me. They hired me for a reason, so that _Camelot_ would be fresh and modern and progressive. How am I supposed to do any of that if they put down so many restrictions? And if they don’t like what I do, then why did they even hire me in the first place?’

‘Because you’re family,’ Merlin said simply. Arthur glared at him so he quickly continued. ‘And because you’re good, Arthur. Even they can see that. It’s just – I suppose this is a big deal for them and for the magazine. They probably worry about how things will turn out. If only they could see-’ He halted.

Arthur frowned at him. 

‘What? What is it?’

‘Arthur, why don’t you show them?’ Merlin asked eagerly.

‘Show them what?’

‘Your pictures, you idiot!’ Merlin said eagerly. ‘If you showed them your pictures, the ones that you have, then maybe they’ll see how good you are and how good your work is and they’ll stop threatening to pull you out of here! Even better – they might tell Lady Morgause to shove off and leave us alone!’

Arthur sat up, suddenly attentive, but there was a frown on his brow.

‘It’s a good idea,’ he admitted slowly. ‘But I’m not sure it will work.’

‘Why not?’ Merlin demanded at once.

‘It’s – we’re in New York,’ Arthur said, shrugging. ‘I’d planned on doing all this and then returning home and locking myself up in my dark room for a week or two. Here – well, I don’t have a dark room for a start.’

‘We can get one!’ Merlin said immediately.

Arthur gave him an almost pitying look. 

‘We need a place without windows where no light or sunshine can get in and it should be a stone’s throw from our hotel,’ he said pointedly. ‘And I would need to be in there almost constantly in order to develop our pictures.’ He sighed and shook his head. ‘And that’s not even taking into account the chemicals I would need for actually developing the photos. I don’t know,’ he said, looking up at Merlin doubtfully. ‘It’s an awful lot of work and it would take up time that we simply do not have.’

‘I would help!’ Merlin said stoutly. ‘I’d help in any way I can.’

Arthur gave him a look of fondness tinged with exasperation.

‘Merlin, there’s a reason that I don’t ever let you into my dark room,’ he said, smiling slightly. ‘Just because we’ve crossed the ocean doesn’t mean that things are any different.’

Merlin gave him a sheepish grin.

‘I suppose not,’ he sighed. ‘But you forget – we have a secret weapon.’

Arthur frowned.

‘We do?’ he asked curiously.

‘We do,’ Merlin confirmed. He gave Arthur a sly little smile. ‘We have Lancelot.’

  


  
*****  


‘So let me get this straight,’ Lance said slowly, blinking at the two of them. ‘You want me to find you a dark room-’

‘And supplies,’ Arthur interjected.

‘A dark room,’ Lancelot continued. ‘Along with a red lamp and a bunch of chemicals, half of which I have never even heard of.’

‘Right,’ Merlin nodded, smiling happily.

‘And you need me to do this …’

‘As soon as possible,’ Arthur said crisply.

‘Right,’ Lancelot shook his head. ‘You know that I’ll do whatever I can to help you right?’

‘It’s why we came to you,’ Merlin said cheerfully.

Lancelot sighed and shook his head.

‘Right,’ he said tiredly. ‘I’ll get on that. I’m sure that the _Avalon Group_ will have a handful of studios around New York that will do the job.’

‘Great,’ Arthur nodded. ‘But make sure that you get everything on the list – your studios won’t have some of the stuff that I use.’

‘Will do,’ Lancelot nodded. He then threw Arthur and Merlin an awkward glance. ‘Er – gents?’

They both turned to look at him.

Lancelot gave them a weak smile.

‘Can I go back to bed now?’

  


  
*****  


Two days later, Lancelot approached Arthur and Merlin a little after breakfast, when the ladies had gone to dress and prepare for the photo shoot.

‘I’ve found a place,’ he said out of the blue. ‘A dark room, I mean. You should be able to use it right away. The owner’s a good guy, very laid-back, so he won’t mind sharing the space for the duration. I also gave him a list of the things you mentioned and he said that he had most of them and that he’d be able to get the rest by the end of the day. Is that okay?’

‘Perfect,’ Arthur said, nodding approvingly at Lancelot, who looked relieved. ‘That will do just fine. I can start tonight?’

‘Yes,’ Lancelot smiled. ‘Hopefully he won’t forget to have brought in everything you need. Here,’ he reached into his pocket and drew out a business card. ‘This has the name and address and everything. I’ll take you if I can, but if Lady Morgause needs me and you don’t feel like waiting …’

‘Of course,’ Arthur nodded briskly and took the card. ‘This fellow’s a photographer, then?’

‘What else would he be doing with a dark room?’ Merlin muttered under his breath, only to be quickly silenced by a look from Arthur.

‘Yes, that’s right,’ Lancelot nodded, pretending that he hadn’t heard Merlin even though it was clear that he was trying not to smile. ‘He’s a photographer. Rather good, too.’

‘Hmm,’ Arthur said, pocketing the business card. ‘We’ll just have to see about that …’

  


  
*****  


That evening saw Arthur and Merlin standing outside an apartment block, looking up at the building in front of them.

‘This is it?’ Arthur asked doubtfully.

Merlin shrugged. 

‘The taxi did drop us here,’ he said. ‘I’m sure it’s all right, Arthur. It’s a pity that Lance couldn’t come himself, but you know what Morgause is like. He said he’d telephone ahead though, let the man know that we were coming.’

Arthur sighed.

‘It just doesn’t look like the sort of place for any studio that I’ve ever seen,’ he said unhappily, before reluctantly following Merlin up to the foot of the building.

‘Let’s see,’ Merlin’s eyes ran down the list of names against each apartment. ‘Apartment 14 – G. Knight, yes?’ At Arthur’s short nod of confirmation, Merlin pushed the button next to the name. A few seconds later the buzzer sounded and the door clicked as it was unlocked.

Arthur raised an eyebrow.

‘Not very concerned with security, is he?’ he muttered.

Merlin shrugged and they both went in.

‘Lift’s out,’ Arthur grunted, seeing the big ‘Out of Order’ sign hung in front of the elevator. Arthur did not look pleased.

‘Guess it’s the stairs then,’ Merlin said cheerfully, nudging Arthur along towards the staircase. ‘Come on then, city boy. Show us Welsh lads how you lot get your exercise.’

Arthur rolled his eyes but found himself taking the stairs two at a time in order to impress Merlin. Merlin’s lips twitched but he managed to keep himself from laughing, which Arthur very much appreciated.

When they at last reached the fifth floor (Apartments 13 – 15), they were both panting.

‘Those steps,’ Arthur gasped. ‘They’re steeper than the ones we have in England.’

‘Yeah,’ Merlin coughed out. ‘Yeah. I thought so too.’

They both shared a glance before quickly looking away and trying to bring their breathing back under control.

A few minutes later and they were both standing in front of Apartment 14. Casting a wary look at Arthur, Merlin leaned forward and knocked.

‘Coming!’ they heard a loud yell from inside, before the door was ripped open and there, in front of them, stood a hairy, handsome man with a wide grin. ‘What can I do for you fellas, then?’

Merlin was staring so Arthur took over.

‘You’re Gwaine Knight?’ he asked stiffly.

The man tossed him a grin.

‘Sure am,’ he said easily. ‘And you are?’

‘We’re – er – Lancelot’s friends?’ Merlin tried tentatively.

‘He said that you wouldn’t mind us using your dark room?’ Arthur clarified.

Gwaine’s expression immediately cleared.

‘Ah, that’s right,’ he grinned. ‘Well, come right in! I’ve been expecting you!’

He pushed away from the door frame and ushered them through.

‘Come on, come on, make yourselves at home,’ Gwaine said genially, waving them in. ‘Anyone hungry? Thirsty?’

‘No, no,’ Arthur said quickly. He glanced around with a look of minor disapproval. ‘You live here?’

‘Yes, that would be correct,’ Gwaine said easily, throwing himself down on a squashy looking armchair. ‘This is indeed where I live.’

‘Pardon me,’ Arthur tried again, making no effort whatsoever to not sound snooty. ‘But I was under the impression that we were here for use of a dark room. Or is this some sort of preliminary interview?’

Gwaine raised an eyebrow. He glanced at Merlin who shrugged, before returning his gaze to Arthur. 

‘No, there’s no interview,’ he said carefully. ‘And there is a dark room. I just happen to live here, too.’

Arthur blinked. He looked around at the apartment again.

‘You have a dark room in your apartment,’ he said flatly, his eyes lingering on the dirty laundry draped over the back of a chair. ‘In here.’

Gwaine narrowed his eyes. 

‘Yes, here,’ he said casually. ‘Is there a problem with that, princess?’

Merlin snorted and Arthur threw him another stony look.

‘I was just wondering whether there was room for it,’ he said with a tight smile. ‘And the name’s Arthur, by the way. Arthur Pendragon.’

‘Pleased to meet you,’ Gwaine said, inclining his head in imitation of a half-bow. His eyes moved over to Merlin and his expression turned lighter. ‘And who are you?’

‘Merlin,’ Merlin said pleasantly, stepping forward and extending his hand. ‘Merlin Emrys. I’m Arthur’s assistant.’

‘And what a lovely assistant you make,’ Gwaine said, sounding completely unabashed. 

Merlin stared for a moment before turning a lovely shade of red.

Arthur scowled.

‘Now, Merlin,’ Gwaine purred, getting up from his seat and prowling around Merlin in a wolfish manner. ‘I don’t know if anyone has ever said this to you – and please do forgive my forwardness – but did you know that you have the most exquisite colouring?’

Merlin flushed bright red. So did Arthur.

‘Yes,’ Arthur said from between gritted teeth. ‘I have. I’ve told him.’

The surprised look that Merlin shot him, however, showed him that he might not have said those words out loud.

‘Well, it can never be said enough,’ Gwaine said gallantly, smiling at Merlin. ‘Anyway, Merlin – I was wondering … would you mind very much if I were to photograph you?’

Arthur almost choked on his own saliva.

‘He most certainly would mind!’ he said indignantly, scowling at Gwaine before Merlin could so much as open his mouth. ‘Not only would he not come near you if his life depended on it, but, just so you know, I am the only one allowed to photograph him!’

Gwaine raised an eyebrow.

‘I think I could persuade him to come near me,’ he murmured, slinking nearer to Merlin. He smirked as Arthur all but snarled. ‘And I think dear Merlin here can speak for himself, don’t you?’

Both men turned to look at Merlin, who was looking completely bemused by the proceedings.

‘Er,’ he began apprehensively. ‘Not that I’m not flattered or anything …’ Arthur threw Gwaine a triumphant smile, seeing where this was going. ‘But I don’t really – having one person photograph you – even for practice – well, that’s really more than enough for me. It’s kind of you to consider me, but – really, no thanks!’

Gwaine gave a melodramatic sigh.

‘Oh well,’ he said sadly. ‘It was worth a shot.’ He leaned in close to Merlin, so that his hair was brushing Merlin’s cheek. ‘But just so you know, if I could photograph you, it wouldn’t be for practice.’

‘All right you,’ Arthur grumbled, halting Gwaine mid-leer. ‘That’s enough of that. Can I see your dark room yet?’

Gwaine grinned but relented. 

‘Yes, yes, follow me,’ he said, dropping his previous vaguely-sleazy manner. ‘Just this way.’

He led them both to the back of the apartment to stand in front of a plain white door.

‘Here it is,’ he said, gesturing. ‘It’s only a small one. Just for private use, really, for when I don’t feel like hiking all the way up to the studio.’

‘So the reason you have it is because you’re lazy,’ Arthur said, sounding supremely unimpressed.

Gwaine flashed him a grin.

‘Say what you like, princess,’ he said, unperturbed. ‘But I really don’t think that you should be the one complaining about that right now.’

Arthur shut his mouth, though his lips thinned.

‘Thank you for this,’ Merlin said earnestly. ‘Honestly – we really need this. It was very kind of you to allow us to use your private room.’

Gwaine’s smile turned softer and more genuine.

‘No problem,’ he said kindly, clapping Merlin on the back. ‘Lancelot is a good man – any friend of his is a friend of mine. I’m glad to help.’

Arthur cleared his throat.

‘Yes,’ he said, rather stiffly. ‘I suppose a thank you is in order.’

‘No need to strain yourself,’ Gwaine said cheerfully. ‘Tell you what, thank me later – when you’ve got all your work done. Then I might actually believe it.’

Arthur nodded, shrugging.

‘You’ve got your camera?’ Gwaine asked, suddenly sounding all-business. ‘Your negatives? Everything you need?’

‘Yes,’ Arthur nodded, gesturing at the bag that he was carrying. He would have had Merlin carry it, but he didn’t quite trust his film in anyone else’s hands but his own. 

‘Good,’ Gwaine nodded. ‘Everything in there’s been set up nice and proper and I’ve cleaned my work out of the way. The stuff you asked for is on the desk. That intrigued me, by the way. I’ve never known some of that stuff be used in a chemical bath before.’

‘Yes, well,’ Arthur said gruffly, not to keen on letting anyone else in on his secrets. ‘It’s something I do.’

‘Right,’ Gwaine said easily, smoothly backing off the topic. ‘Well, I’ll be out here and – well, take your time, I guess.’

‘Yes,’ Arthur suddenly looked at Merlin who was looking slightly out of place. Arthur had never allowed him to enter his dark room, after all, and he wasn’t going to start now. That being said, Arthur felt slightly uncomfortable at leaving Merlin in Gwaine’s clutches.

‘I’ll stay here,’ Merlin said quickly, seeing Arthur’s troubled expression. ‘Don’t worry Arthur – I’ll be fine.’ He saw Arthur’s gaze flit over to Gwaine and he rolled his eyes. ‘I’ll be _fine_ ,’ he repeated. ‘Now go in there and work on those prints!’ He gave Arthur an encouraging smile.

Unable to refuse, Arthur gave Merlin a small smile, before turning and sending a warning glare in Gwaine’s direction. Gwaine gave him a pleasant wave in return. With a wary look at the both of them, Arthur disappeared into the dark room, closing the door behind them. A moment later they heard a _click_ , telling them that Arthur had found the red light.

‘So,’ Gwaine said, turning to Merlin and rubbing his hands together. ‘What shall we do now?’

  


  
*****  


Arthur emerged from the room hours later, a tired but pleased expression on his face, only to freeze in surprise at the sight that greeted him.

‘Arthur!’ Merlin beamed up at him from where he was plastered over the sofa. ‘You’re here!’

Arthur slowly made his way towards the front of the room.

‘Merlin?’ he asked cautiously. ‘Are you-’ His nose suddenly wrinkled. His eyes widening in shock, he turned to stare at Merlin, aghast. ‘Merlin, are you _high_?’

Merlin let out a giggle at that. Gwaine, sitting in the seat opposite him with a cigarette in hand, looked on benevolently.

‘You got him high?’ Arthur demanded, hands on hips, glaring at Gwaine.

‘Relax,’ Gwaine said soothingly, not moving from his seat. ‘It was just a little Mary-Jane. He barely got a lungful.’ He leaned in closer as if imparting a secret. ‘Between you and me, young Merlin here’s a bit of a lightweight.’

Merlin let out a high-pitched giggle before slumping back in his seat and letting out a loud snore.

Arthur glared at Gwaine.

‘You had no business giving him drugs,’ he hissed. ‘He grew up on a farm in Wales for goodness sakes! He’s not used to this sort of thing!’ His eyes trailed down to where Merlin’s shirt was all wrinkled and unkempt. Arthur’s eyes widened. ‘I swear to god, if you so much as laid a-’

‘Relax, princess,’ Gwaine drawled. ‘I didn’t touch him. He just started feeling a bit hot after a while.’ He looked up at Arthur from out of strangely sober eyes. ‘I don’t take advantage of people who can’t fend for themselves,’ he said mildly, but there was an undertone of dangerousness there.

Arthur nodded at that.

‘Right,’ he said gruffly. ‘As it should be.’ He hesitated. ‘It’s just – Merlin’s not like us, you know? I know that we are nothing alike-’ Gwaine snorted at that, ‘-but you’re a photographer. You live in a big city. You know how things work. Merlin – Merlin doesn’t. He’s – I don’t want him to become disillusioned.’ Arthur’s voice became slightly hoarse at the end.

Gwaine was watching him carefully.

‘So that’s how it is,’ he said softly, lowering the cigarette from his lips. He was silent for a moment. ‘Does he know?’ he asked, indicating Merlin with his head.

Arthur shuffled his feet.

‘Don’t know,’ he said quietly. ‘Sometimes I think – I think that he does. But he doesn’t … I don’t know.’

Gwaine nodded and brought his cigarette up once more, looking deep in thought.

‘He spoke a little while he was under,’ he said suddenly. ‘He mentioned you. Not much, mind. But enough. Enough to see that you were important to him.’ His eyes flicked up to Arthur’s. ‘You take care of him,’ he said quietly. ‘He’s a good guy. You don’t often see that around New York, these days.’ He gave a humourless smile. ‘Everyone’s all blasé and jaded, like me.’ He looked at Arthur. ‘Like you.’

Arthur nodded.

‘I’ll keep that in mind,’ he said stiffly. He shook his head, clearing it from the smoky fumes. ‘Just so you know, I called Lance from the phone in the dark room. I think that we had better go now, if that’s all right with you.’

Gwaine raised his arms.

‘It’s quite all right,’ he said magnanimously. He cocked his head to the side. ‘You’ll be back, I presume?’

‘You presume correctly,’ Arthur said with a firm nod. ‘I’ll be back tomorrow evening. Without him,’ he jerked his head towards Merlin.

Gwaine gave him a shark-like smile.

‘Shame,’ he said. ‘Who knows what we could have got up to while you were busy in the other room.’

Arthur ignored him and instead went to wake Merlin.

‘Wake up sleepy-head,’ he muttered, hauling Merlin to his feet. ‘It’s time to go home.’

‘Don’ wanna,’ Merlin muttered, curling in on himself.

Arthur sighed and tugged Merlin closer so that he was all but draped over Arthur’s side. He turned and glared at Gwaine. 

‘A little help here?’ he growled.

Gwaine watched him coolly.

‘Well?’ Arthur snapped, impatient.

‘You know, the elevator’s out,’ Gwaine said casually. ‘That’s an awful lot of stairs to have to climb down, carrying someone.’

Arthur’s lips tightened.

‘Fine,’ he said. ‘Please.’

Gwaine smiled.

‘You only had to ask,’ he said pleasantly, before getting up, stubbing out his cigarette and moving to help take some of Merlin’s weight.

‘Come on, sleeping beauty,’ he said, taking hold of Merlin’s waist and putting his arm around his shoulders. ‘Let’s get you home.’

And together, Arthur and Gwaine carried a semi-comatose Merlin out of the building.

  


  
*****  


The next day Arthur arrived at the apartment alone, looking distinctly stiff and uncomfortable.

‘Merlin not feeling up to it today?’ Gwaine asked with a knowing smirk.

Arthur merely scowled and shoved his way in. 

He was there till late that night and when he eventually got back to the hotel, he was too tired to do anything but crawl into bed and fall fast asleep.

Merlin, meanwhile, lay awake in the next room, trying to ignore the odd feeling in the pit of his stomach that had cropped up when he had heard the lights in the next room turn off with a _click_.

Twisting around in his bed, he tried not to think of how, for the first time since they had arrived in New York, Arthur had not come in to wish him goodnight.

  


  
*****  


It happened the next day as well, and the next. Merlin went from being Arthur’s closest companion and friend to being merely an employee; no longer did Arthur knock on his door in the evenings, no more did he joke around and laugh with Merlin, no more did he expand upon his ideas and plans and vision. Instead, he spent his mornings photographing according to Morgause’s wishes, the afternoons according to his, impatiently sat through lunches at _Tom’s Diner_ and dinner at the hotel restaurant – he refused to go out as it would simply waste more time – before snatching up his camera and films and negatives and hurrying away to Gwaine’s apartment.

Needless to say, this sudden change in attitude caused quite a bit of awkwardness within the group.

‘Is he quite all right?’ Elena asked worriedly after the second day of Arthur acting snappish and impatient with her. ‘I didn’t upset him somehow, did I?’

Merlin quickly assured her – and Lancelot when he too approached him – that Arthur was indeed perfectly fine and that neither of them had caused him any problems and that it was just the way that Arthur worked. He didn’t mention that it was the first time that he himself had seen Arthur act in such a way. 

Even Gwen the waitress – now also Lancelot’s girlfriend – seemed slightly unnerved by the apparent haste with which Arthur made them fly in and out of the diner. 

‘Is the food not right?’ she asked Merlin anxiously one afternoon, cornering him whilst Arthur used the facilities. She was twisting her apron in between her fingers and appeared genuinely distressed. ‘I can’t think why – Is something wrong? It’s just that you used to spend so much time here and now – now it seems like you can’t wait to get away!’

Merlin sighed and explained everything to her, trying to soothe her fears as best he could. 

‘Don’t worry,’ he said before leaving. ‘He’s just – caught up in it. It’s nothing personal. He’ll remember that we exist soon enough.’

Gwen had given him a strange look at that – one of pity from what he could tell – but he ignored it and, with a parting nod, left.

Morgause was also quick to notice the change in Arthur.

‘Did you two have a lover’s tiff?’ she asked him abruptly one evening, just as they were finishing up dinner. Arthur had already left for Gwaine’s and Elena had gone to bed early citing to a headache. Lancelot had used the evening to take Gwen to the pictures, leaving Merlin alone with Morgause once Arthur had left.

Merlin started at Morgause’s question and turned to stare at her.

‘I beg your pardon?’ he stammered, torn between mortification and disbelief.

Morgause gave him an unimpressed look.

‘Little Lord Pendragon is quite the changed man,’ she said casually, elegantly dabbing at her lips with a napkin. ‘He’s professional, he’s focused, he’s working hard …’ She narrowed her eyes. ‘What’s going on?’

Merlin blinked.

‘I’m afraid that I have no idea what you mean,’ he said stiffly, hoping to bring an end to the conversation.

He had no such luck.

‘Come now,’ Morgause said, smiling condescendingly down at him. ‘It’s clear that something is the matter with him. A lover’s quarrel would explain it perfectly.’

Merlin’s jaw tightened.

‘I haven’t the slightest clue what you mean, Lady Morgause,’ he said through clenched teeth. ‘Arthur – that is, Lord Pendragon and I are nothing but friends. Good friends, true, but just friends.’

‘It’s all right, you know, dear,’ Morgause said in a kindly tone, even while her eyes were as sharp as flints. ‘It’s not as if it’s unheard of. I myself have an uncle who … well,’ she smiled again, her expression every bit as sharp as before. ‘Not that it matters, of course. After all, I’m sure you expected this.’

‘Expected what?’ Merlin asked suspiciously, his curiosity getting the better of him.

Morgause shrugged an elegant shoulder.

‘Why – things to end of course,’ she said easily. ‘After all, you were always just a distraction. He would have bored of you sooner or later. A clever thing like you, you would have known that right away.’

‘I – I would?’ Merlin asked, feeling slightly confused, his stomach tightening uncomfortably.

‘But of course!’ Morgause purred, her eyes glinting. ‘We all know Lord Arthur’s reputation, after all.’

‘His – his reputation?’ Merlin repeated, swallowing.

‘But of course,’ Morgause said unconcernedly. ‘His propensity for – philandering, shall we say. It’s quite well known, of course. It’s said that there’s not a girl – or boy, I suppose, yes? – that goes into his studio that leaves without gaining an intimate knowledge of dear Arthur. But I’m sure you’re well aware of that, of course.’ She patted Merlin’s hand.

Merlin didn’t say anything. The twisting sensation in his stomach seemed to intensify. 

‘Don’t worry, dear,’ Morgause’s expression was more of a smirk than a smile. ‘As I said, I’m sure you knew this all before. And think of it this way – at least you got a trip to New York out of it! Most of the others barely even got a thank you, from what I’ve heard.’ She sniffed. ‘I wouldn’t be too put out. I mean – you can’t have expected it to last, hmm?’

‘No,’ Merlin said, in a slightly choked voice. ‘No. Of course not.’

Morgause smiled.

‘Good,’ she said, pleased. ‘I’m glad to see you have sense. I knew you would. After all – between the two of us, we both know that it can’t have been your looks that attracted him to you, yes?’ She cast an eye over Merlin’s frame and didn’t even try to hide her disdain. ‘Plain little thing like you …’

‘Y-Yes,’ Merlin stuttered. ‘Of course.’ He suddenly found that he was on his feet. ‘Lady Morgause – excuse me. I – I find that I have a headache.’

Morgause smiled sweetly at him.

‘Of course, dear,’ she said pleasantly. ‘You had better go and lie down. Get some rest. Young Arthur might have need of you once he returns after all.’ Merlin winced at the rather vulgar implication behind her words. ‘Though wait,’ Morgause continued thoughtfully. ‘I’d almost forgot – that’s over, isn’t it? What with him now being bored of you and all …’ She trailed off.

Merlin kept his features blank.

‘Goodnight Lady Morgause,’ he said quietly, before drifting away, his skin pale.

Morgause watched him go from out of the corner of her eye. Then, leaning back in her chair in satisfaction, she raised her hand to call for a cup of coffee. 

It would keep her up, she knew, but tonight she felt that she rather deserved something of a treat.

  


  
*****  


Merlin lay in bed, looking up at the ceiling blankly. He felt numb. Disconnected. The worst thing was, he didn’t even know why he was feeling that way. It wasn’t as if the things that Lady Morgause had said were true. He was not sleeping with Arthur, after all. For goodness sakes, he thought viciously, he wasn’t even …

Merlin swallowed. For some reason his mind didn’t allow him to finish that sentence.

So what if Arthur was rather promiscuous? It wasn’t as it Merlin hadn’t known it. He wasn’t naïve, after all, whatever Arthur might say. He’d seen the way Arthur was with people. How Arthur had been with him, when they had first met. Hell, he’d even seen one of his conquests in the flesh – literally! If that didn’t prove Morgause’s words …

Sighing, Merlin turned over onto his side.

He didn’t know what he was even worrying about. He wasn’t sleeping with Arthur so all that nonsense about Arthur “tiring” of him meant nothing. Of course they didn’t. Arthur was his friend. Merlin knew that. Of course he did. There was no reason to doubt that at all.

But then Merlin remembered the way that Arthur had been during the last few days, the way he had barely seemed to see him, the way he ignored him, the way he hadn’t so much as knocked on their connecting door in what seemed to be ages.

Merlin’s throat tightened. In that moment he couldn’t help remembering Morgause’s words to him from mere minutes before.

_You can’t have expected it to last … plain little thing like you …_

Merlin gritted his teeth and flung himself back on his back. This was ridiculous. He and Arthur were _friends_. They were nothing _but_ friends and Morgause was completely wrong to have suggested … to have suggested …

Merlin stilled.

Oh no. No. No, no, no. That was wrong. No. He wasn’t. He wasn’t like that. He didn’t. There was no way – no possible way that he could ever, ever feel like that. That he could ever-

His heart seemed to stop.

There was no way, no _possible way_ that he could ever, _ever_ be in love with Arthur.

He closed his eyes.

No, it wasn’t right. He wasn’t – was he? But he – he would have known.

He – 

He took in a shivery breath and opened his eyes.

He would be fine. It wouldn’t matter. 

And, with a sudden punch to the gut, Merlin realised that it _didn’t_. It didn’t matter. For, over the weeks and months that he had come to know Arthur, he had somehow come to accept that side of Arthur, the one that enjoyed doing things with men, and in doing so, had come to accept it in full. And so, whilst jarring, he couldn’t say that the realisation that he too felt that way about men – or perhaps, just Arthur in particular – truly shocked him. After all, what had his entire relationship with Arthur been but an education in possibilities and an exploration of his own feelings? He’d felt something for Arthur all along, he knew that now. And, difficult though it was, he now accepted it too. But that meant that the reason he felt so awful, the reason he so upset and at a loss was …

Arthur. 

It all came back down to Arthur. The problem wasn’t Merlin’s sexuality or his confusion regarding it; that was something that he could deal with at a later date. It was enough for now that he accepted what he felt, and that what he felt was for another man. So no, the problem was not that he was in love with a man. The problem was that he was in love with Arthur.

And Arthur did not feel the same way.

Well, not any more at any rate. How could he? He’d probably grown tired of waiting for Merlin to figure himself out. What was it that Morgause had said? That Arthur had “grown bored” of him, that he was only a temporary fixation. Arthur can’t have known many common boys, after all, having hobnobbed with the rich and titled all his life. He was a Pendragon, for God’s sakes, and a Lord in his own right. Merlin must have been the first bit of rough that had come by his way and, intrigued, Arthur must have fixed his eyes upon him. 

Not now though. Now Arthur had seen that Merlin wasn’t anything special. Not in a place like this, like America, where the streets were paved with bright young things that outshone Merlin in every way. Why would Arthur want to photograph him – poor, plain little Merlin – when he could have anyone out there? Even Lancelot, besotted as he was with Gwen, would make a much more suitable model for Arthur’s work that Merlin would. Hell, even Gwaine – 

Merlin swallowed as he remembered the merry twinkle in Gwaine’s eye, the roguish charm that surely translated well over a camera, the easy way that he had flirted with Merlin. It wasn’t as if Arthur was all that fussy about whom he slept with, from what Merlin had heard. And – Merlin gulped – Gwaine did not look all that dissimilar from Cenred, when one thought about it, and Arthur had definitely found Cenred attractive – he had slept with him after all. And it would certainly explain all the late nights that Arthur suddenly had over at Gwaine’s studio …

Letting out a strangled sob, Merlin flung an arm over his eyes and buried himself deeper into his sheets.

It took him a long time to fall asleep that night and when he eventually did, his dreams were cryptic and filled with confusion, reflecting the confused knot of emotion within his heart.

  


  
*****  


Merlin couldn’t bring himself to do anything the next day, not where his newfound revelation was concerned anyway. In fact, he barely even spoke to Arthur, trying to avoid him as much as possible. Arthur didn’t seem to notice but the others did. Morgause wore a satisfied little smile about her lips for the entire morning while both Elena and Lancelot threw Merlin worried little glances.

‘Are you quite all right?’ Elena demanded, cornering Merlin that evening, a little while after dinner. ‘Have you and Arthur had a fight?’

The question was painfully close to Morgause’s own inquiry the night before, and Merlin jerked away crossly before he could stop himself.

‘Why does everyone always think that?’ he demanded peevishly. ‘Arthur is his own man, you know, what don’t you all go and ask him?’

Elena blinked at him in surprise before her expression changed and she looked at him shrewdly.

‘Who else has asked you?’ she asked cannily.

‘Oh, just about everyone!’ Merlin huffed. ‘You, Gwen, Lancelot …’ he hesitated. ‘Morgause …’

‘Aha!’ Elena pointed a finger at him triumphantly. ‘There we are! Go on then, tell me what the witch said!’

‘Ellie!’ Merlin hissed, looking around in alarm. ‘Someone might hear you! You don’t know what spies she has, she has people everywhere!’

Elena rolled her eyes.

‘Oh fine,’ she huffed, tugging him by the sleeve. ‘Let’s go to my room then.’

‘What?’ Merlin’s eyes widened. ‘What? No! Ellie, I can’t – I can’t be seen going into your room at this hour!’

‘So make sure no one sees you then!’ Elena said cheerfully, pulling Merlin into an empty elevator.

‘Ellie, be serious!’ Merlin hissed as the doors shut. ‘It’s too risky!’

‘Oh don’t be ridiculous!’ Elena huffed. ‘Anyone would think you were an old Victorian maid. Don’t worry, Merlin. We’ll be stealthy-’ Merlin could almost hear Arthur’s choke of laughter at the idea of the two of them being “stealthy” – ‘and if we’re quiet, Morgause will never know. She takes a glass of brandy every night just after dinner before going to bed.’ She turned and looked at him with a gleeful smirk. ‘She snores.’

Merlin still didn’t look fully convinced, however.

‘Oh, come on,’ Elena said exasperatedly. ‘Honestly Merlin, even if they do see us together, no one would even think that …’ she trailed off.

Merlin, cheeks a furious red, clenched his fists.

‘What?’ he gritted out. ‘That a poor little Welsh lad like me could never be with a proper lady like you?’ He saw Elena’s expression and his eyes widened. ‘Or – or perhaps,’ he choked out. ‘That they wouldn’t believe that I could be with any lady of _any_ sort-’

‘Merlin!’ Elena sounded shocked. ‘Merlin – no! No, that was not what – I mean – Oh dear.’ She looked down at her feet miserably. ‘I knew I would mess things up, I always do.’

Merlin suddenly felt very tired. 

‘You know what, Ellie, I think I’ll just turn in right now, okay?’

Elena immediately shook herself out of her rambling, worried thoughts.

‘Oh please don’t!’ she cried unhappily. ‘Merlin, we should talk. Please. At least allow me to apologise.’

Merlin clenched his jaw, determined to just pull away and lock himself in his room for the rest of the night. One glance at Elena, however, quickly caused this resolution to collapse.

‘Oh fine,’ he grumbled wearily. ‘We’ll talk.’

Elena smiled at him in relief before leading the way to her room. As they walked down the corridor they passed one of the hotel staff coming from the opposite direction and heading towards the stairs.

‘Morgause’s brandy,’ Elena whispered confidingly to Merlin. ‘She’s probably all tucked up in bed now. A few more minutes and she will be out like a light.’

Merlin simply nodded and followed Elena quietly into her room. Once inside, she closed the door before turning around and pressing her finger to her lips. Then, tiptoeing across the room, she went and pressed her head against the door that connected her room to Morgause’s.

‘There,’ she said after a moment or two, lifting her head up from where it had been laying against the door. ‘We’re safe. I can hear her snoring.’

Merlin was tempted to go over and have a listen for himself but his weariness soon won out over his curiosity. 

‘What did you want, Elena?’ he asked tiredly. 

Elena bit her lip and slowly pulled away from the door. 

‘I’ve been worried about you,’ she said quietly, looking down at her feet. ‘About both of you. You and Arthur, I mean.’

Merlin rolled his eyes.

‘We aren’t some matched pair,’ he said irritably. ‘We are separate people, you know. And – for your information – we are not together!’ he bit out, unable to help himself.

‘Oh!’ Elena’s eyes were round and she quickly shook her head. ‘Merlin, I didn’t – I mean – that’s – I wasn’t … There’s nothing wrong with being that way, I’m sure, despite what most people think … I actually have a third cousin who-’

‘Yes, yes, doesn’t everyone,’ Merlin grumbled. He grimaced and rubbed his hands over his eyes. ‘I know that there’s not – I don’t even care all that much – It’s just – It’s …’ He opened his eyes, suddenly looking pained, his expression completely forlorn. ‘Is it that obvious?’ he whispered shakily.

Elena’s eyes went wide and she was by Merlin’s side in a second.

‘Merlin!’ Her hands fluttered uselessly around him before she finally settled on clutching his arm. ‘Oh darling, no! That is – are you sure?’

Merlin closed his eyes and nodded.

‘I didn’t even realise it until Morgause approached me,’ he said bitterly. ‘I mean – I knew in a sense, but not really? Then Morgause cornered me and then after that everything suddenly made sense.’

‘Everything?’ Elena prompted gently.

‘Yeah,’ Merlin said, his throat dry. ‘It’s like it all came together. Why I never paid all that much attention to the girls back home or even the gorgeous ones who walked into the studio every day. Why I was never too fussed about dating like other boys my age. Why …’ he swallowed. ‘Arthur.’

Elena was patting his arm, a very sympathetic expression on her face.

‘Arthur?’ she asked gently.

Merlin all but groaned.

‘I don’t know,’ he mumbled, trying to hide his face in his collar. ‘I didn’t even – I didn’t even recognise what I was feeling. How stupid is that? There he was, every day, flirting with me and everything, and I didn’t even know. How could I have not known?’

Elena didn’t say anything, her expression of sympathy still firmly in place.

‘And now that I do know,’ Merlin continued, unable to stop now that he had started, now that he was able to put words to his feelings. ‘What am I meant to do? Do I have to just live with this?’

Elena looked at her feet.

‘Why don’t you-’ she started hesitantly. ‘I mean – can’t you both … you know?’

Merlin stared at her before giving a harsh laugh.

‘You honestly think that will happen?’ he asked dryly.

Elena tossed her hair and straightened up.

‘Why not?’ she demanded, hands on her hips. ‘I mean, I don’t mean to embarrass you and all, but you are both – well. You know. _Not averse_ to the idea of being with men, I mean. So what’s stopping the two of you from being together?’ She paused and grimaced. ‘Apart from the majority of society, that is.’

Merlin was frowning at her.

‘How do you know Arthur likes men?’ he demanded, eyes narrowed, feeling strangely protective of Arthur’s reputation.

Elena rolled her eyes.

‘Please,’ she said dryly. ‘ _Everyone_ knows it. It’s the worst kept secret in society pages. Everyone knows that Arthur likes dalliances of all kinds.’ She paused. ‘Though I suppose that’s precisely why he’s tolerated. He likes both kinds, men and women. And not just as a cover. Anyone with any idea of the number of models and debutantes he’s humped his way through would discard the idea of Arthur being a purely homosexual man. No, from all reports he’s been through far too many debs for it to be anything but real gusto for the feminine form. And as long as he retains that, then it’s okay. All the society mamas will keep mum about him as there is a very real chance that he might marry their daughters. And believe me, the Pendragon name and fortune is nothing to sniff at. They want him, foibles and all.’

Far from being comforted, Merlin looked all the more anxious at that.

‘Oh,’ Elena said quickly. ‘I’m sorry. That’s just how they feel about it. Believe me, there’s nothing wrong with only liking men. My third cousin feels that way and I like him better than all of my first and second cousins combined!’

But Merlin was shaking his head.

‘But that’s just it,’ he said slowly. ‘I don’t know if that is true. I don’t know if it’s men in general, or just – or just Arthur.’

Elena’s face softened at that.

‘Does it matter?’ she asked gently.

Merlin looked at her.

‘As long as the two of you can be together,’ she continued softly. ‘Does anything else really matter?’

Merlin looked at her for a moment before sighing.

‘It’s late,’ he said, wearily rubbing at his head. Elena opened her mouth to speak but Merlin talked over her. ‘I had best get to bed, I think. Long day, and all that.’

‘Merlin-’

‘Goodnight, Ellie.’

‘Merlin-’

‘Goodnight!’

Elena fell silent. But, just before Merlin was about to walk out of the door, she spoke.

‘Merlin,’ she said, and his back stiffened. ‘I don’t know what it was that Morgause said, but whatever she did? It’s wrong.’

Merlin was still for a moment. Then, when he next spoke, his voice was considerable softer.

‘Goodnight Ellie,’ he said, and shut the door behind him.

  


  
*****  


The next day was awkward. Merlin and Elena were rather ill-at-ease with each other after the previous night’s discussion and there was plenty of fumbling and clumsiness. Merlin kept losing his concentration and Elena kept fidgeting whilst in mid-pose, driving Arthur – who had started the day in a bad mood himself – to distraction.

By midday, Arthur, already red in the face from frustration, had all but thrown his camera down in despair and had then proceeded to walk off. Merlin and Elena had cast uncertain stares at each other and Morgause had quirked an eyebrow but it was Lance who had jumped into action. After seeing that none of them – not even Merlin – had followed Arthur, he had quickly taken after him, tripping along the pavement even while clutching his work satchel.

Merlin and Elena now stood together in awkward silence, fidgeting nervously, while Morgause huffed out a sigh and pulled out a thick leather-bound day planner from her large handbag and proceeded to make inscrutable notes in it.

It was almost ten minutes later that Merlin’s head shot up and Elena and Morgause, following his lead, turned their heads to see both Lancelot and Arthur walking back slowly towards them, their gait slow and comfortable. Indeed, as they came nearer, they were surprised to see that Arthur looked quite relaxed, his temper of minutes ago seemingly forgotten.

‘Sorry about that!’ Arthur called as he approached the group, looking completely calm and at ease. Lancelot, who was walking by his side, looked both relieved and satisfied. Whatever he had said to Arthur had apparently worked like a charm. ‘Nerves and what not, you know? Now,’ Arthur clapped his hands, smiling around at them. ‘How about some lunch?’

The others were quick to agree; even Morgause made no objections at their earlier-than-usual break. As one, they turned and set off for _Tom’s Diner_.

Gwen, of course, had been delighted to see the return of Arthur’s enthusiasm and so she stayed by their table for a lot longer than usual, chatting and giggling happily by Lancelot’s side. Time passed pleasantly enough and Arthur seemed to be back at the top of his game, socially speaking. He flirted and laughed like a champ and everything seemed to go back to normal, to the way things had been when they had first arrived in New York.

Merlin, however, felt less convinced of this as time went on. Elena was laughing uproariously at something Arthur said, all chuckles and snorts, as unladylike as you please, while Gwen blushed and hid her face against Lance’s side. Even Morgause was looking less severe and Arthur – Arthur was in his element, the sparkling, shining centre of attention. He barely had to flash a smile and the others would be drawn to him. And this was all well and good and Merlin could not be happier with the change. The only problem was, Arthur did not so much as look in Merlin’s direction.

At first Merlin thought that he was imagining it. Surely he was just over-thinking things, especially after his prior introspection? Surely it was just his feelings of entitlement showing through; Arthur was perfectly within rights to pay attention to Elena, Lancelot and Gwen, after all. 

And pay attention to them he did. Except that was all he did. Not one remark was addressed to Merlin, not one smile was sent his way. Even Morgause came in for her fair share of Arthur’s interest, and the barbs that they exchanged were laced with something akin to amusement – at least on Arthur’s part.

Merlin said nothing. He didn’t fully understand Arthur’s odd attitude towards him but he was prepared to wait for an explanation. Part of him hoped that Arthur was acting this way because what he wanted to say to Merlin needed to be said in private – an apology, perhaps, for his behaviour of the past few days. Or perhaps even – Merlin cut the thought off before it could start. It wouldn’t do to get ahead of himself. 

And so he sat patiently through the whole lunch, faking enthusiasm and ignoring the odd, worried looks that Elena sent his way. He was pleased, but not completely surprised when, following their luncheon, Arthur suddenly declared that they should all take the evening off and use it to relax, himself included. There was a joint cheer at this, from Elena, Lance and even Gwen, while even Morgause looked grudgingly accepting of the idea.

‘And maybe tonight we can sample the nightlife here,’ he added before they left. ‘I feel the need to let off some steam.’

Lance and Gwen agreed readily to this while Elena cast Merlin a wide-eyed look. Morgause ignored the conversation – and the invitation – completely.

On their way back to the hotel Elena slowed down her steps so that she ended up walking next to Merlin.

‘What’s going on?’ she hissed at him the moment the others were sufficiently out of earshot. ‘What on earth happened with Arthur? And did something happen between the two of you?’

‘What do you mean?’ Merlin asked quickly.

Elena frowned. 

‘I mean that he appears to be completely ignoring you,’ she said darkly. ‘And that you’ve being unusually quiet. Is something wrong? Tell me!’

Merlin sighed.

‘At least I know that it’s not just in my head,’ he muttered. ‘But no – I don’t know what’s wrong. I haven’t spoken to him all day and I went straight to bed last night. I haven’t the slightest clue why he’s acting this way.’

‘Hmm,’ Elena narrowed her eyes thoughtfully.

‘I’m going to ask him though,’ Merlin said quickly, unsure as to why Elena’s inquiries had caused his unease to return. ‘Once we get back to the hotel.’

Elena hummed at that but didn’t say anything. When the others looked around to see where she and Merlin were, she gave Merlin’s arm a quick squeeze before running off to join the others ahead. Glancing up, Merlin met Arthur’s eyes for a brief second before Arthur too turned around and was immediately sucked back into the conversation.

Merlin sighed and lowered his head but not before he caught Morgause’s smile of approval.

  


  
*****  


Merlin waited for almost an hour before deciding that if Arthur wouldn’t come to him, then he would go to Arthur. Sitting up from where he had lain spread-eagled on his bed, he quickly tugged his clothes straight and ran a hand through his hair in an attempt to make it neater. He wasn’t completely sure why he was nervous; all he knew was that he was. Steeling himself, he approached the doorway connecting his room to Arthur’s and, straightening his spine, knocked sharply on the door.

There was a pause and, after a few seconds, the call came for Merlin to ‘Come in!’

Merlin gingerly turned the handle and, opening the door, stepped through. His eyes immediately fell on Arthur, who was sitting at a chair with a pile of photographs in his hands, flicking through them rapidly.

‘Oh,’ Merlin said, pausing on the threshold. ‘Am I disturbing you?’

‘Yes,’ Arthur replied, not looking up.

Merlin approached him anyway. 

Sighing, Arthur looked up from his photographs.

‘You never do what I want, do you?’ he muttered.

‘Sorry,’ Merlin said completely unapologetically.

Neither of them spoke for a minute.

‘So?’ Arthur prompted after a moment.

‘So?’ Merlin repeated, raising his eyebrows.

‘What do you want, _Mer_ lin?’ Arthur translated for him, rolling his eyes.

‘Oh,’ Merlin gave him an awkward grin. ‘Right. That.’ He paused and shuffled his feet. Then, swallowing, he looked up and into Arthur’s eyes. ‘Have I done something wrong?’

The question seemed to take Arthur be surprise.

‘What?’ he blinked. ‘No. No, you haven’t. Why do you ask?’

Merlin shrugged.

‘Dunno,’ he said, not meeting Arthur’s eyes. ‘It’s just – you’ve been a little off with me lately. And today – you barely even looked at me.’

Arthur gave him a patronising smile but even this action, so familiar to Merlin, seemed a bit rough-edged to Merlin, as if it were forced, almost.

‘Don’t be ridiculous,’ Arthur said smoothly, turning back to glance at his pictures. ‘You’re imagining things. Why on earth would I be off with you?’

‘That’s just it – I don’t know!’ Merlin burst out. ‘And you’re even doing it now!’

‘Nonsense!’ Arthur’s smile was now becoming more fixed, more noticeably fake. ‘The heat is getting to you.’

‘We’re inside!’ Merlin said, his eyes narrowing. ‘In a luxury hotel. An air-conditioned hotel.’

‘Oh, I don’t know!’ Arthur scowled, turning away. ‘Now stop bothering me, Merlin, can’t you see I’m busy?’ He waved the photograph in his hand violently before putting it at the bottom of the pile. ‘Ah, here,’ he pulled the next picture out. ‘This one is rather good, isn’t it?’ It was a picture of Merlin and Elena, both looking natural and relaxed as they chatted together. ‘I think this one would make a good impression, don’t you think?’

Merlin cast a distracted look at the picture.

‘Hmm? Oh, yeah. It’s nice. Ellie looks good in that.’

‘Doesn’t she just,’ Arthur muttered. ‘At least there’s something to make up for her clumsiness.’

‘Hey!’ Merlin immediately protested. ‘Don’t talk about her like that! She can’t help it, you know.’

Arthur raised a lazy eyebrow in Merlin’s direction but did not comment. Instead, he coolly raised a hand and brought something up to his face.

It was then that Merlin’s eye fell on the cigarette between Arthur’s fingers.

‘You’re smoking,’ he said slowly. 

Arthur’s eyebrow twitched but all he did was inhale a lungful of smoke.

‘I thought you’d stopped,’ Merlin said quietly.

Arthur shrugged.

‘Guess I didn’t,’ he said, reaching over and tapping the ash off the end into a cigarette tray. Merlin’s eye fell on the tray and he felt his chest tighten as he saw the number of burnt out cigarette butts lying there. The chamber maid would have cleared the previous day’s ash before they returned so that meant that all those cigarettes had been smoked by Arthur in the past hour.

‘But you promised me that you would,’ Merlin said slowly, as if unable to comprehend Arthur’s disregard for his promise.

‘I hardly promised,’ Arthur said dryly. ‘I said I’d try.’

‘Well this is hardly trying!’ Merlin said, glancing back at the full ashtray.

‘Oh Merlin stop whining!’ Arthur groaned, getting up from his chair and dumping the photographs on the desk. ‘Honestly, you’re far too wound up. I hope you are coming out with us tonight. Maybe you will find someone to help you relax. I know I will.’ He waggled his eyebrows suggestively.

Merlin suddenly felt sick.

‘N-No,’ he said quietly, wiping at his forehead. ‘I’m – I’m afraid that I don’t feel at all well. I don’t think I will be able to make it.’

Arthur studied him closely for a moment before shrugging.

‘As you will,’ he said unconcernedly. He paused. ‘If that’s all, then …?’

‘Yes,’ Merlin said quietly, his face blank. ‘Yes, that’s – Yes.’

‘Goodbye then,’ Arthur said, returning to his photographs and turning his back on Merlin.

Merlin just nodded before turning and walking back to his room, gently closing the door behind him.

Arthur stared at the closed door for a moment, before turning and going back to his photographs.

  


  
*****  


Merlin lay awake till late that night, staring blankly up at the ceiling. Elena had stopped by his room before leaving for the night out with the others. She hadn’t said much, just clasped his hand and given it a sympathetic squeeze before murmuring a goodnight and leaving.

And so Merlin was left by himself, all alone but for his thoughts. He could admit to himself by now that he was indeed upset by Arthur’s behaviour but he quickly shoved that down deep inside of him. He didn’t want to take that out and analyse it too much; now wasn’t the time for it. Now was the time for him to decide what it was that he wanted to do; where he wanted to go from here.

He lay back in bed, contemplating his options. Before he knew it, it was past midnight and still he lay awake, unable to suppress his thoughts. It was only when, sometime after one o’clock, he heard the door next to his slam along with the sound of a girlish giggle that he finally made his decision.

His heart simultaneously lighter and heavier, he closed his eyes and, turning over, went to sleep.

  


*****  


  


Merlin woke up early the next day and spent the morning setting his room to rights before going down to breakfast. Usually the group all breakfasted together but today, due to Merlin having risen early as well as the late-night antics of the others, Merlin found himself all alone in the breakfast room. He didn’t mind though, as the emptiness of the room suited his mood just fine. He finished his breakfast and pushed away from the table that he was sat at. On his way out, he passed Morgause who appeared at the same time everyday like clockwork. Morgause merely smirked at him as she passed but Merlin couldn’t bring himself to care very much.

A short while after he returned to his room he began to hear the sound of movement from the room next to his. There was a low murmur of conversation – a man and a woman it sounded like – before the exchange came to a halt. Merlin heard the door open and close a moment later and found himself letting out a breath of relief.

Merlin sat on his bed in silence for almost half an hour, waiting, before shaking himself and moving to stand. Steeling his nerves, he lifted his hand and placed a tentative knock on the connecting door.

‘Come in!’ came the call.

Taking a deep breath, Merlin opened the door and stepped through.

‘Hello,’ he said, looking at Arthur.

Arthur stared back, his hands pausing from where they were doing up the last few buttons of his shirt.

‘Hello,’ he replied cautiously. ‘Can I help you?’

‘Er – yes,’ Merlin answered nervously. ‘I think so.’

Arthur’s hands dropped away from his shirt and he turned to face Merlin fully. Something about Merlin’s tone had clearly alerted him to the fact that this was important.

‘And it can’t wait for breakfast?’ Arthur asked somewhat half-heartedly. ‘I was just about to go down, myself. I don’t suppose that you would care to join me?’

Merlin shook his head.

‘No, no – I’ve already been,’ he said.

Arthur looked even more wrong-footed at that. They had always breakfasted together, even in the last few days when Arthur had been edgy and full of impatience.

‘Oh,’ he said awkwardly. ‘Right. Well, in that case …’ He finished buttoning his shirt before turning to Merlin, his expression serious. ‘What is it?’

Merlin took a deep breath.

‘I wanted to tender my resignation,’ he said in a cool, calm voice. ‘And to inform you that I am giving my notice.’

Arthur stared.

‘I beg your pardon?’ he asked, not seeming to believe his ears.

‘I’m giving my notice,’ Merlin repeated, his voice low and even. Unfaltering. ‘The moment we get back to England, I’m leaving.’

‘To do what?’ Arthur demanded, his voice tight. His fists were clenched low at his sides.

Merlin shrugged.

‘I don’t know,’ he said honestly. ‘But I think it’s best for everyone involved if I resign.’

Arthur was quiet for a moment.

‘I see,’ he said slowly, his eyes fixed on Merlin. When he next spoke his words were sharp, harsh, as if he were trying to appear unaffected but was failing miserable. ‘And may I ask the reason for your sudden and unexpected departure?’

Merlin swallowed but his face remained expressionless. It was odd, he thought to himself, how good a liar he had suddenly become considering how notoriously bad he usually was at lying. Perhaps, he thought bitterly, he was only good at lying about things that actually mattered.

‘Things have become … complicated,’ he began, trying to find the correct way to phrase his words. ‘It’s – I think it’s best if I just leave before things become even more tangled and confused.’

Arthur was regarding him with a raised eyebrow and a challenging expression.

‘And exactly how, pray tell, have things become “complicated”?’ he drawled, folding his arms and leaning one shoulder against the wall.

Merlin opened his mouth and then promptly shut it again.

‘I couldn’t say,’ he said stiffly.

Arthur snorted. 

‘Oh really?’ he pushed off from against the wall. His voice was jovial but his eyes were hard. ‘Why not? Go on, Merlin, I’m sure that I can take it.’ 

Merlin swallowed. But then – what did it matter? – the rash part of his brain asked. He was going to leave and it would be better to know than to merely wonder. He should just get it over and done with. Just get it out in the open.

Screwing his courage up, Merlin straightened his shoulders and faced Arthur head on.

‘I’m afraid that my affections have been compromised,’ he said bluntly. At Arthur’s blank look, he clarified. ‘I find that I’ve fallen in love,’ he said self-deprecatingly. He then proceeded to hold his breath, having no idea how Arthur would react to the abrupt declaration.

Arthur looked at him for a moment, his face expressionless.

Merlin watched him, on tenterhooks, desperate for any sign of emotion. If he had been hoping for a large, positive reaction, then he would have been disappointed.

‘I see,’ Arthur said slowly. His face was as blank as ever. ‘You’re … in love.’

Merlin nodded tentatively.

‘And the person you – that you have feelings for,’ Arthur continued, his eyes fixed firmly on some point above Merlin’s left shoulder. ‘Do they – feel the same?’

Merlin wasn’t too sure about where this was going.

‘I – I don’t know,’ he said hesitantly. ‘But I – I hope that - maybe.’

Arthur’s face became even stonier than before.

‘You’re right,’ he said abruptly.

Merlin’s heart almost stopped.

‘Wha – I am?’ he asked in a strangled voice.

‘Yes,’ Arthur gave a sharp nod of the head. Then before Merlin could say anything he continued. ‘You ought to leave.’

Merlin stared. For a moment he thought that he had heard Arthur wrong.

‘I – I’m sorry?’ he asked, confused. ‘What did you say?’

‘You have to leave,’ Arthur said firmly, still not meeting Merlin’s eyes. ‘It would be difficult if you were to stay on.’

Merlin, unable to believe his own ears, stared at Arthur, his mouth moving soundlessly.

‘You – you mean you don’t – you-’ he stuttered out, feeling completely blind-sided. He had been prepared for Arthur to reject him but he hadn’t ever considered that Arthur would have been more than eager to get rid of him. Morgause’s words sprang to his mind: _You were always just a distraction. He would have bored of you sooner or later._

‘I don’t what?’ Arthur suddenly turned to Merlin and his eyes were cold, piercing into Merlin mercilessly. ‘I don’t support the idea? You’re right – I don’t!’ He saw Merlin’s expression and gave a bitter laugh. ‘Don’t tell me that you expected otherwise! Can you really have thought – did you really understand nothing of my behaviour? Nothing at all? Can you really not have expected me to be less than thrilled at your charming little declaration?’

‘I-’ Merlin felt bewildered. Cringing with hurt and humiliation he remembered Arthur’s recent behaviour towards him; the coldness, the sternness, the lack of warmth and friendship … He reeled. What had he been thinking, telling Arthur like that? What had he – why had he done that?

‘Oh don’t take it too badly,’ Arthur continued, watching Merlin’s trembling form, unmoved. ‘After all, what can you have expected? It’s not like it would work out. No one in polite society would receive you with open arms, for one thing. It would be a complete scandal! You’d be gossip-fodder, and every rich mama with an interest in the matter would tear you to pieces. Really, it’s for the best that you should leave before this nonsense goes any further.’ 

Merlin was feeling ill.

‘But,’ he tried weakly. ‘But if we loved each other – if we could be happy-’

Arthur looked Merlin straight in the eye.

‘You couldn’t,’ he said cruelly. ‘You could never be. And that’s the truth of it.’

Merlin stared at the floor, trying to pull himself back together. When he finally got himself back under some semblance of control, he looked back up at Arthur.

‘You’re cruel,’ he said quietly, ignoring Arthur’s flinch of guilt. ‘You’re cruel and heartless and I never expected this sort of unkindness from you. If this is how you … Well, let me just say that I am glad that I am leaving. Two weeks are far too long, in my opinion.’

‘Then go now!’ Arthur snapped, scowling at him. ‘Take your sorry self and go! I’m done with you anyway. I release you from any and all obligations. Take your things and leave this instant! I’ll call up the airport and make sure that you have a ticket waiting for you.’

‘I suppose I should be pleased to even expect that much from you,’ Merlin said bitterly, clenching his fists. His anger was slowly overtaking his sense of hurt and despair.

‘Damn right, you’re lucky,’ Arthur growled. ‘Now get out of my room and leave me alone. I’ll expect you to be long gone by the time I set foot in England again.’

‘Oh believe me,’ Merlin said darkly, striding to the door. ‘You will never see me again!’ And with that he strode through the doorway and slammed the door behind him.

  


  
*****  


An hour later, and Merlin was in the backseat of a car, being driven to the airport by a rather upset and confused Lancelot.

‘But why are you leaving?’ Lancelot asked for what had to be the hundredth time, sounding genuinely very upset.

Merlin clenched his fists and forced himself to breathe evenly. It had been an hour since his argument with Arthur but even though Merlin had come to accept his position, he hadn’t manage to tamp down the feelings of hurt and anger and, above all, the humiliation that threatened to overtake him every time he thought about what had happened. He had laid his heart out on a platter for Arthur and instead of being welcomed as he had hoped or even gently turned away as would have been embarrassing but at least tolerable, he had been subjected to that.

‘Nothing,’ he answered tightly. ‘Something came up and I had to quit. Arthur – very kindly – told me not to wait till my two weeks were up. And now I’m going.’

‘Yes but-’ Lancelot began, sounding distressed. ‘I’m sure that – Arthur wouldn’t just … He really told you to go?’ 

Merlin gave him a thin smile.

‘Unequivocally,’ he said, not without a trace of bitterness in his voice.

‘Oh,’ Lancelet said in a small voice, falling silent. Then: ‘Did you say goodbye to Elena? And Lady Morgause?’

Merlin nodded. The moment he had finished packing – not a considerable job, considering that some sixth sense had caused him to put away most of his things earlier that morning – he had made his way to Morgause’s room to inform her of his premature departure. Morgause had listened in silence while he spoke, before shrugging.

‘Well,’ she had said, lifting a careless shoulder. ‘It wasn’t as if we weren’t expecting it. You and I both knew how this would end. At least you got to see New York.’

And with a nod, Merlin had been summarily dismissed. 

After taking a moment to compose himself, Merlin had made himself march over and knock on Elena’s door. Elena had delightedly invited him into her room and Merlin had had to stand there and watch her expression fall from pleasure to shock and then horror as he had revealed to her what had happened. Elena had almost burst into tears at the announcement of his departure, and had thrown her arms around Merlin’s neck, shaking her head and hysterically declaring that this was all her fault, that somehow she had driven Merlin to reveal his feelings to Arthur, which was the reason that he was now forced to leave. It had taken a while for Merlin to calm her down and to assure her that the only one who was at fault was Arthur, and not her. 

The parting had been a sad one, on both sides. Despite their differences in station and social position, Merlin and Elena had truly become good friends, something that would not have happened without their time together in Manhattan and it was hard to think that this time had now come to an end, and so suddenly at that. There had been plenty of hugs and tearful kisses on the cheek between them, as well as promises to write before they finally stepped away from each other. Merlin, picking up his suitcases, had then glanced up to see Arthur, watching him from the balcony overlooking the lobby. Their eyes met and for a moment it seemed as if Arthur looked lost and unsure of himself. The moment passed in a flash though, and Arthur was once more his cool, aloof self. He gave Merlin a short nod, which Merlin had returned, a lump in his throat. Then, spinning on his heel, he had walked out of the hotel, not looking back even once.

‘Gwen will be upset that she didn’t get to say goodbye,’ Lancelot said sadly. ‘She will miss you, you know.’ He paused. ‘We all will.’

Merlin smiled at that, touched.

‘I’m sorry I don’t have time to see Gwen,’ he said softly, genuinely sad. ‘I wish there was time, but there isn’t. My flight leaves in a few hours.’

‘I know,’ Lancelot said, sighing. ‘It’s a pity. I can’t believe that this is the end.’ 

Lancelot’s gloominess seemed to spur something in Merlin.

‘Listen,’ he said, turning around in his seat. ‘I know it’s a long shot and all, but if you ever decide to cross the pond, you’ll always be welcome at mine – you and Gwen, okay?’

Lancelot blushed slightly but his nod was firm.

‘I’m honoured,’ he said, dipping his head. ‘And I – we – would love to come to visit you. And you know the offer is returned, don’t you? If you should ever decide to come back to New York?’

Merlin swallowed at that. He loved Manhattan – there was no doubt about it. But along with the many pleasant, happy memories that he had accumulated here, there were also bad ones. This last day, more than any others, had tarred the time he had spent in New York in what he feared was an irrevocable manner.

‘Thank you,’ he said with feeling. ‘I’m not sure that it will happen – at least, not very soon – but it means a lot that you offered.’

Lancelot nodded and they sat the rest of the way in silence.

They eventually pulled up outside the airport and Lancelot first helped Merlin out of the car before turning to the rear to unload the luggage.

‘Can I help you with that?’ 

Merlin’s heart almost stopped beating as for the barest moment he believed that Arthur had somehow followed them and had now come to either stop him from leaving or – at the very least – see him off. But then Merlin’s senses returned and realised that not only was it not Arthur’s voice, but that the speaker had an American accent. He turned with a sigh only to give a start of surprise.

‘Gwaine!’ he blinked, completely at a loss as to why a man that he had met only once had turned up at the airport to see him off. ‘What are you doing here?’

‘I’d like to know that as well,’ Lancelot added, coming up to stand next to Merlin and crossing his arms.

Gwaine merely grinned and shrugged.

‘I had nothing better to do,’ he said easily. ‘I’d telephoned Lance here, asking him if he was up for some fun, but he said that he had to drop _you_ off at the airport.’ He gave nudged Merlin’s shoulder companionably. ‘So I decided to invite myself along and say bye before you left.’

‘Oh,’ Merlin said, nonplussed. ‘Right. Thank you?’

Gwaine smirked.

‘Aw come now, don’t be so surprised,’ he drawled. ‘I thought me and you got on quite well, that one time that we met.’

‘Er,’ Merlin coughed, embarrassed by the fact that his memory of that evening was slightly hazy.

Gwaine chuckled at that and clapped Merlin on the back.

‘Never mind,’ he grinned. ‘Let’s get you into that airport now, eh?’

And with that he and Lancelot each scooped up Merlin’s bags and carried them across the street and into the departure lounge of the airport. They then waited patiently while Merlin checked his bags in and picked up his ticket from the airline counter.

‘That’s done,’ Merlin said once he returned, relieved. He had been half-afraid that there wouldn’t be a ticket waiting for him when he arrived. The other half of him had rather been hoping that that would be the case. ‘I still have some time yet, though, if you don’t mind waiting around.’

Both Lancelot and Gwaine both waved off the idea that they would rather be anywhere else and the three of them made their way over to the nearest airport café so that they could spend Merlin’s few remaining moments in New York in some comfort.

‘Here, let me,’ Lancelot said, moving towards the counter, money already in hand. ‘You two stay there, I’ll get everything.’ He was gone before the others could protest.

‘Silly bastard,’ Gwaine said, looking after Lance fondly. ‘Do you know, I don’t even remember the last time I actually had to pay for something when he was around?’

Merlin gave Gwaine a Look, but he couldn’t help smiling anyway. It was almost impossible to feel gloomy when Gwaine was around.

‘You know he talks about you,’ Gwaine said suddenly, causing Merlin’s smile to falter.

‘What, Lance?’ Merlin asked, laughing weakly.

It was Gwaine’s turn to give Merlin a Look.

‘You know who I’m talking about,’ he said easily. 

Merlin looked down at his lap.

‘Yes, it’s a terrible bore having him around without you there,’ Gwaine continued nonchalantly. ‘He’s always going on and on about how much he wished he wasn’t there with me and fretting on about what you were getting up to on your own without him to protect your precious virtue.’

Merlin snorted at that. Apart from the fact that he had usually spent the evenings that Arthur was gone either with Elena or by staring up at the ceiling in his hotel bedroom, he really didn’t think that Arthur really cared all that much about what he had been doing. Or about his “precious virtue” either, it seemed.

‘You don’t believe me,’ Gwaine said. It was a statement more than a question.

Merlin slowly shook his head.

‘Doesn’t mean it’s not true though,’ Gwaine said cheerfully, putting his hands behind head and leaning back.

‘No,’ Merlin said calmly. ‘But other evidence indicates that it’s unlikely.’

Gwaine cocked his head at that, regarding Merlin thoughtfully.

‘You’ve had a spat,’ he said at last. ‘The two of you have had a bit of an argument haven’t you?’ At Merlin’s short nod he shrugged and leaned back. ‘Don’t worry,’ he said. ‘It will all work out.’

Merlin stared.

‘How’d you figure that?’ he asked, bemused.

Gwaine was watching him with a small smile, his eyes crinkled up.

‘Oh, just observation on my part,’ he said, waving a hand. ‘Watching, listening. That sort of thing.’

Merlin snorted.

‘Pardon me if thinking that sitting in a corner, quietly listening and watching doesn’t really seem like something you do,’ he said dryly.

Gwaine grinned at that.

‘Oh you’d be surprised!’ he declared. ‘I can be quite stealthy, if I need to.’

‘Hmm,’ Merlin hummed, looking at Gwaine thoughtfully, before smiling.

Gwaine smiled back, his expression almost fond.

Lancelot returned at that moment and the conversation soon moved onto brighter and happier things. Before they knew it, their time was up and Merlin was waving goodbye from the gate, a lump in his throat as he watched the other two wave furiously back. Then he was showing the smiling hostess his ticket and being ushered forward and, with one glance backwards and a quick smile, walked out of view.

It was time to go home.

  


  
*****  


It was late by the time he turned up outside the little flat he shared with his uncle but Gaius was already there, waiting for him as he wearily tugged his luggage up the front path towards the door. Merlin stopped feet away from where Gaius was standing him, regarding him with a worried expression.

‘Oh my boy,’ Gaius said quietly. ‘What happened?’

Merlin had to hang his head at that, suddenly feeling choked up all over again.

‘I…’ He couldn’t find the words to complete the sentence so he shrugged. ‘I’m leaving,’ was all he could say. ‘I – It’s over.’

Gaius sighed and, reaching out, placed a warm hand on Merlin’s shoulder.

‘Come in, my boy,’ he said, giving him a small smile.

Letting out a breath, Merlin smiled and nodded. Gripping his cases tightly, he walked into the house.

  


  
*****  


‘I still don’t see why it’s necessary for you to go,’ Gaius said for what had to be the tenth time that night, even as he poured Merlin more tea out of an old china teapot. ‘You two had an argument. Things were said in the heat of the moment. I’m sure he regrets it now.’

Merlin quickly shook his head. 

‘No,’ he said firmly. ‘I resigned, Gaius. I offered to do it. We were arguing, yes, but this – this wasn’t done in the heat of the moment.’

‘Hmm,’ Gaius regarded him narrowly, looking at him from underneath his thick bushy eyebrows. ‘I see.’

Merlin ducked his head, looking down at his tea.

‘What do you see?’ he asked quietly.

‘I see that there is something that you aren’t telling me,’ Gaius said gently. He smiled when Merlin’s head jerked up in alarm. ‘But don’t worry my boy, I shan’t ask you to share any of your secrets with an old man. Have no fear on that account.’

Merlin nodded his thanks and went back to staring at his tea.

Gaius silently offered him a piece of cake from the plate on the table. Merlin dutifully reached out and took a slice of Battenberg, his actions almost mechanical. 

‘You know you could stay,’ Gaius offered quietly. ‘I know Arthur’s a big part of the business but I do co-own it. I could keep you on. You would only have to work for me, not him. He couldn’t do anything about that.’

But Merlin shook his head.

‘No,’ he said, fingers still grasping the piece of cake. ‘No, that wouldn’t – no. Not that I’m not grateful,’ he added quickly. ‘But I – I don’t think that would be for the best.’

Gaius watched him for a moment before nodding, resigned.

‘Well then,’ he said. ‘We will speak no more about it. Now,’ he smiled up at Merlin. ‘Tell me about America.’

  


  
*****  


Two days later, Merlin was fully packed and ready to leave the flat. He looked around it in fondness, his eyes lingering on every nook and cranny that he had come to know and love in the short time that he had been there.

‘You can come visit any time you want,’ Gaius said reassuringly, correctly interpreting Merlin’s look. ‘In fact, I insist upon it.’ His smile became sad. ‘It’s truly been a pleasure having you here, Merlin. This place has been all the brighter for having you in it.’

Merlin smiled at that, a true smile.

‘Thank you, Gaius,’ he said, reaching forward and squeezing Gaius’s shoulder. ‘These months I’ve spent with you – the way you took me in – I can’t have asked for a better friend and mentor. I’ll always be grateful for that. Thank you.’

‘Oh my boy,’ Gaius said gruffly, before leaning in and embracing Merlin closely. They pulled back after a while, both trying to pretend that the parting wasn’t as emotional as it was. ‘You look after yourself now, you hear?’

Merlin nodded, smiling through suspiciously bright eyes.

‘And make sure you write to me,’ Gaius continued. ‘I shall be wanting to hear how you get on, after all.’

‘Yes, Gaius,’ Merlin laughed.

‘And tell your mother that I shall look forward to having you again – any time you want!’

‘Yes, I know,’ Merlin said, finally grinning. ‘You’ve said it about half a dozen times already.’

‘Yes, well …’ Gaius smiled fondly at him. At that moment, however, the sound of a car horn sounded, causing them both to jump. ‘There’s your taxi,’ Gaius said, looking up. ‘You’d better hurry, Merlin, you don’t want to be charged more than necessary.’

‘Right,’ Merlin said, quickly gathering up his bags and walking forwards. He paused on the threshold and turned around, his face suddenly looking young and vulnerable. ‘Well – goodbye then.’

Gaius gave him a gentle smile.

‘Goodbye, Merlin,’ he said softly. 

And with one final nod, Merlin turned and walked out of the door, towards the taxi waiting to start him on his journey home.

  


  
*****  


The journey home was a long one but to Merlin it didn’t seem long enough. His stomach was all tied up in knots and he was really very worried that he would be sick. Shutting his eyes, he leaned against the glass of the train window, feeling the rhythm of the speeding train vibrating through the glass.

He hadn’t written home. Nor had he called. He had written to his mother and Mordred prior to his trip to New York to tell him that he was going and that he would be flying on an aeroplane – an actual aeroplane! – and that he would be in Manhattan for quite some time. As far as they knew, Merlin was still supposed to be there. They had no idea of his shameful return to England, nor of his resignation from his job as Gaius’s studio assistant. 

Merlin couldn’t bear to think about what they would say when they saw him. Or what – and he swallowed – what his father would say when he heard of his return. His stomach cramped up when he so much as thought about it and he determinedly tried to pull his thoughts away. He would find out soon enough. Unless, of course – and this was a very real possibility – he wasn’t allowed to set foot through the door. He remembered full well what his father’s last words to him had been.

And now here Merlin was, shuffling home with his tail between his legs.

Feeling quite sick at heart, Merlin leaned back and pressed his head back against the seat. There were still some hours to go before he reached Wales. Doing the only sensible thing that he could, Merlin curled in on himself and settled down for a short, dreamless sleep.

  


  
*****  


The road up from Ealdor station had never seemed so long and yet so simultaneously short. Merlin was hard-pressed to keep from remembering the last time that he had walked this way, the last time that he had stood down at the station. He had not been alone then, nor had he felt so tired and so close to despair.

Each step up the road seemed to weigh him down even more. It was evening by the time he arrived at Ealdor station and the sky had already been darkening. This darkness seemed to grow with every step that he took. By the time he reached the oh-so-familiar turn in the road leading to the Emrys farm, the sky was almost completely black, with only the pinprick of stars a pale, waxy moon to light his way. 

Feeling numb and exhausted beyond belief, Merlin made the last leg of the journey through sheer will alone. He was now tired, hungry and his nerves were strung higher than they had ever been in his whole life. Not even his confrontation with Arthur had been as nerve-wracking as this moment. 

He hesitated before knocking on the door. What if no one answered? What if no one was in? What if they were in and they didn’t want him? What if his father refused to allow him back?

His throat dry, Merlin screwed his courage up and, lifting his had, gave three loud knocks upon the heave wooden door. Then, taking a step backwards, he stood stiffly, fear and anticipation thrumming through him.

It was a short while before the door was answered. Late night visitors did not appear often and when they did, were often regarded with suspicion. Merlin knew this but even so the delay grated upon him, drawing out an already excruciating time into an even longer period of nervous expectation.

Finally, there was a flicker of light through the window and then the sound of a heavy iron latch being pulled back, followed the turn of a key in the hole. The door was then pulled open just wide enough to reveal the person opening it and there, standing in front of Merlin, was Balinor, his father.

Their eyes were fixed, unmoving, upon each other.

A cold wind blew past them but still neither of them moved, both of them standing stock still mere feet from each other, as if they were statues.

Merlin stared up at the solemn, expressionless face of his father, the man he had always feared to disappoint ever since he had been a boy. To his horror, he felt his eyes start to tear up and his lips tremble. A tear streaked down his cheek but still he didn’t look away from his father’s blank, unreadable face.

There was a pause.

Then, with a soft sigh, Balinor pushed the door open and, standing aside, jerked his head inwards.

Swallowing thickly, Merlin gave him a tremulous smile, before picking up his bags and walking in, revelling in the feel of his father’s hand gently clapping him on the back as he walked inside. 

Then the door shut behind him, and Merlin was home once more.

  


  
*****  


On the other side of the Atlantic, Arthur was not having a very good time. What had once been an exciting new experience and a fantastic holiday had suddenly turned into the vacation from hell. Not only did he no longer have Merlin to lean on but now he was surrounded by people who hated him. Well, perhaps that was a bit too strong. He was now surrounded by one person who hated him (Morgause, but that was no big loss – she had always hated him), one person who actively disliked him (Elena, who had been downright mutinous ever since Arthur had packed Merlin off, making any photographing session downright painful), and one person who passively disliked him – which is to say they showed no signs of disliking Arthur, but showed no real signs of liking him either (Lancelot, who was respectful and efficient in every way, even to the point of reverting to addressing Arthur as “Lord Pendragon”. It was driving Arthur insane.)

Even worse, Gwen the waitress was clearly none too pleased with him either. Arthur had a feeling that she would never forgive him for having made Merlin go away without even giving him the time to stop by the diner to say goodbye to her. She glared at Arthur when he came by and downright slammed whatever dish he ordered loudly in front of him when serving out food. No one else seemed to notice or care very much about her behaviour but Arthur hated it. He hated that all his friends – to be honest, the closest friends that he had ever had – were treating him this way. Even worse, he hated that a part of him felt that he deserved to be treated that way. Never mind the fact that it was Merlin who had resigned, that it was Merlin who had been acting strangely, that it was Merlin who had betra- He quickly stopped that line of thought. No good would come of that and the group around him were fractured enough already.

In fact, the only one that didn’t seem to be jumping down his throat about Merlin’s departure (apart from Morgause, who looked strangely self-satisfied and smug for all the days following Merlin’s exit) was Gwaine, but then considering that he had only met Merlin once, Arthur would have been quite surprised had he joined in with the hostility towards him. But then again maybe not – Merlin seemed to be one of those people who could get under your skin even after meeting him just once; that’s what happened to Arthur after all. Perhaps it wouldn’t be so surprising if Gwaine too started chasing him down about Merlin’s resignation and subsequent departure.

Thankfully though he didn’t, and Arthur found himself spending more and more time in Gwaine’s flat. He wasn’t sure that he and Gwaine were friends quite yet, but they were companionable enough to sprawl out on opposing sofas following a photograph developing session, and drink beer together until they were both fairly hammered.

‘I just don’t understand it!’ Arthur groaned, taking a swig from his bottle. ‘He resigned. Why are they all mad at me?’

‘Possibly because you helped him out the door using your foot?’ Gwaine suggested mildly, sipping his beer almost daintily.

Arthur scowled.

‘Hey, he’s the one that wanted to go,’ he grumbled. ‘I just … fast-forwarded the process. You know. So things weren’t so awkward.’

‘Yeah?’ Gwaine took a sip of beer. ‘And how’s that working out for you?’

Arthur deflated.

‘Yeah, thought not,’ Gwaine smirked.

‘Like you know anything,’ Arthur muttered.

‘I know more than you think,’ Gwaine said mildly, causing Arthur to stare at him. ‘For instance, I know that there is a great deal to this story that you aren’t telling me about.’

‘Oh yeah?’ Arthur challenged belligerently.

‘Yeah,’ Gwaine shrugged. ‘Like the tiny but significant fact that your feelings for Merlin are considerably more than platonic.’

Arthur froze.

His mouth opened and moved soundlessly for a moment before he straightened up and took refuge in outrage.

‘Wh – how dare you! I’ll have you know that I’m _Arthur Pendragon_ , and that what you are suggesting, sir, is tantamount to the grossest accusations of indecency and I …’

Gwaine listened to Arthur’s ranting with equable patience.

‘You know I don’t care, right?’ he asked after Arthur had finally calmed down. ‘Hell, it’s not as if I can say very much; if it hadn’t been for the way the two of you made lovesick puppy-eyes at each other, I would have tried to make a play for it with that young man of yours. He had pretty cheekbones,’ he said with a dreamy smile.

Arthur immediately stiffened and his jaw and his fists were clenched almost before he even realised it. Gwaine had been watching though, and he raised an eyebrow at Arthur’s reaction. Arthur paused for a moment, before sighing and sinking back in his chair, resigned.

‘They were pretty cheekbones,’ he said sadly. ‘They looked beautiful under the right light, with the shadows darkening every line of his face.’ He shut his eyes. ‘That’s the worst thing, you know. Now that he’s gone I can’t for the life of me take a decent picture. It’s like he went and he took all my talent along with him. I stand there holding the camera and I feel no better than an amateur bloody tourist!’

Gwaine made an odd noise in his throat.

‘Pardon me,’ he said delicately. ‘But did you say that that was the worst thing?’

Arthur opened his mouth to confirm it, before he stopped and grimaced.

‘Christ,’ he muttered, smiling bitterly. He glanced up at Gwaine. ‘When did you become all wise and knowledgeable anyway?’

‘Oh I’ve always been this way,’ Gwaine said with a grin. ‘It just took you ages to finally notice it.’

Arthur gave a grunt before retreating into silence.

‘I miss him,’ he said suddenly, making Gwaine turn around to face him. ‘He’s only been gone a handful of days but I miss him already. Even his god-awful babbling. It’s – I miss him,’ he repeated, staring forlornly into space. He gloomily took a swig of beer from his nearly-empty bottle.

‘Hmm,’ Gwaine said thoughtfully. ‘Well then I suppose the real question there is: how much do you miss him?’

Arthur frowned and cocked his head to the side.

‘What do you mean?’ he asked blankly.

‘I mean,’ Gwaine said, his voice ceaselessly patient. ‘Do you miss him enough to make things right? Do you miss him enough to go after him? Does that fact that you miss him actually mean something?’ He paused, and took a sip of his own beer.

‘Well I think those are awfully personal questions!’ Arthur grumbled, feeling defensive.

Gwaine shrugged.

‘Most of the best questions are,’ he said simply. ‘And I never said that you had to tell me the answers. It’s enough that you answer them for yourself. As long as you know the answer.’

Arthur was silent for a good few minutes after that.

‘I don’t know,’ he said finally, in a very small voice. ‘All I know is that now he’s gone – I feel like I’m missing something very important.’

The look that Gwaine gave him at that was far too sympathetic for Arthur’s liking, even being in the less than sober state that he was. Not wanting to see it, he twisted around on the sofa so that his back was to Gwaine. He sighed and closed his eyes.

When Gwaine called to him five minutes later, Arthur was already fast asleep, his brow clear and furrow-free for the first time in days.

  


  
*****  


The next day, Arthur was back at work, scowling over his camera as he tried to make Elena do as she was told even whilst battling the crushing remnants of a hangover. Suffice to say, he wasn’t in a very good mood.

‘Oh for god’s sake, Elena!’ he bit out, dragging his head away from his camera. ‘I said turn left! Turn left!’

Elena threw him a dirty look before exaggeratedly turning herself around to face the correct direction, muttering something nasty under her breath as she did so.

Sighing, Arthur went back to taking pictures.

‘You know,’ Morgause murmured a little later while they were having a short break. ‘You wouldn’t have to put up with this sort of behaviour if you had just listened to me.’

Arthur pretended not to have heard her.

‘If you had just done as I had said and not hired the girl in the first place, this whole thing would have moved a lot smoother.’

Arthur made a polite noise in the back of his throat.

‘There were so many better options – girls with more grace and poise. Obedient, too. They would have been much better suited for the job.’

Arthur couldn’t keep quiet at that.

‘Pardon me,’ he said coldly. ‘But I believe that it is I who is in charge of determining suitability here and I must say that I stand by my choice. Elena is perfectly suited for that job.’

Morgause sniffed at that but clearly Arthur’s expression warned her not to go any further on this track.

Elena too was looking at Arthur now, her expression surprised and almost soft before she caught herself and went back to holding her pose and the accompanying look of blankness.

‘Well,’ Morgause said at last, clearly not able to keep her mouth shut for more than a few seconds at a time. ‘I admit that she isn’t completely without merit. And at least her parentage is not in question.’ She gave Arthur a sideways look. ‘Not like that boy of yours.’

Arthur’s spine immediately stiffened and he clenched his jaw, bracing himself for what was coming next.

‘I honestly don’t know what he was doing here,’ Morgause went on carelessly, seemingly ignorant of the sudden coldness arising from those that were present. ‘What was his role here? Apart from being a waste of money and valuable resources, that is?’

Arthur’s grip on his camera tightened and it was with very real effort that he didn’t react.

‘I understand, of course, that a man has needs,’ Morgause said, in what she probably thought was a delicate manner. ‘And one is willing to overlook … certain qualities if necessary. However it was obvious from that start that he did not fit in. He’s just a village boy after all, a nobody! He shouldn’t have been anywhere near our social circle!’

Arthur found his rage and disgust being reflected on Elena and Lance’s faces. They all kept silent though, which was perhaps not the best thing to do as the silence only seemed to encourage Morgause.

‘And while I can understand the boy being of use “behind the scenes”, as it were,’ Morgause continued, oblivious to the anger brewing around her. ‘I simply do not understand why it was so necessary for him to be in front of the camera! He ruined everything! All those pictures are now unusable. A more handsome figure would not have been so intolerable, but to have such a skinny, plain creature there to ruin-’

Arthur lost it.

‘You don’t get it!’ he burst out, dropping his camera and wheeling on Morgause who backed away, startled. ‘You still don’t get what separates Merlin and Elena from those stiff, frigid birds that you paraded in front of me, do you?’ Arthur gave a harsh laugh at Morgause’s stunned, blank expression. ‘Well you know what? If you don’t get it now then you never will. And you know what that means? It means you are over, Morgause. You and your kind – over. You see, just because you are a lady doesn’t mean that you know a thing about fashion, about art, and soon the world will see that. They will get tired of all these simpering debutants in their stiff, doll-like poses, and they will want the real deal, they will want life and joy and beauty, and that is what Merlin has in spades compared to your little wooden puppets!’

Arthur was breathing hard by the time that he finished his tirade and by this time not Elena and Lance were staring at Arthur with wide-eyed approval, while Morgause stared at him with stricken horror and disbelief.

‘I -’ she swallowed and looked at him, her hands trembling – whether from anger or the sudden bolt of revelation it was hard to say. ‘I am not over!’ she shrieked, but the words sounded false even to her own ears. ‘I-’ she glanced around but found no sympathy forthcoming. Her eyes strangely red, she turned and hissed at Arthur. ‘That is it! That is the last straw! I’m telephoning London and asking for your immediate withdrawal from this project. You are done, Pendragon! Done!’

Arthur gave a careless snort.

‘We’ll see about that!’ he said haughtily, tossing his head and watching Morgause stalk off. The moment that she was gone though, he slumped, his shoulders pulling down as the weight of what had happened hit him.

‘Arthur!’ he was brought back to himself by Elena’s voice at his side. Glancing up, he saw both Elena and Lancelot hovering anxiously by his side. ‘Arthur, are you okay?’

Arthur blinked.

‘Yeah,’ he said slowly, straightening up. ‘Actually – yeah. Yes. I am.’

The other two were looking at him doubtfully.

‘Don’t worry,’ he said reassuringly. ‘I’m really okay. This – this is good.’

Elena and Lance exchanged a worried glance.

‘How is it good?’ Lance asked sceptically.

Arthur turned and gave them both a wide smile.

‘Because now I understand what’s missing,’ he said, and with that he whirled around and was gone before either Elena or Lance could stop him.

  


  
*****  


Merlin rearranged the canned peas on the shelf, deliberately taking his time with the job, stretching it out for as long as he could. It wasn’t a particularly interesting occupation but it sure beat mopping the floors. Sighing, Merlin reluctantly placed the last tin on the shelf before straightening and stretching his long arms out over his head.

He had started his new job at the local supermarket just a few days before and already he felt close to drowning in monotony. After the bright sunny skies of New York and the thrill of working in a real life London photography studio, Ealdor’s tiny little supermarket had very little to offer him. Of course he was grateful to actually have another job and the money wasn’t too terrible, but yet – it was not what Merlin had hoped for. He knew now that he was meant for more than just staying in one tiny corner of Wales. He loved his home but he longed for more. He needed more. And now that he had had a taste of it, it was harder than he could have believed to have to go back to the way that things were before he had left.

He missed London. He missed New York. And more than the both of those, he missed _Arthur_.

Sighing, he shook his head and walked over to the tiny broom closet hidden away in the corner of the shop. His thoughts were still gloomy even as he dragged out the bucket and the raggedy mop from behind a cluster of brooms, so much so that he didn’t notice the person approaching him till they were right behind him, clearing their throat loudly so as to get his attention.

‘Ahem.’

Merlin spun around, unthinkingly brandishing the mop as if it were some sort of spear. Then, when he saw who it was, his eyes went wide and the mop handle slipped from his grasp, hitting the ground with a clatter.

‘Arthur!’ he blurted, suddenly finding it hard to breathe. ‘What – what are you doing here?’

Arthur shrugged.

‘Oh, you know,’ he said casually, walking by a shelf and picking up a lonely-looking tin of spam. ‘Just – shopping.’ He waved the tin unconvincingly at Merlin.

Merlin raised an eyebrow and raised hands so that they came up and rested upon his hips.

‘Spam, Arthur?’ he deadpanned. He gave a snort. ‘I rather doubt that you’ve ever gone near a tin of spam in your life.’

Arthur gave him a sheepish smile at that and quickly replaced the tin upon the shelf.

‘So,’ Merlin said, folding his arms across his chest. ‘Why are you here? Really?’

Arthur looked down at his feet.

‘I just – I wanted to see you,’ he said reluctantly.

Merlin rolled his eyes before pausing, a frown on his face.

‘Come to think of it – how did you find me, anyway?’ he asked suspiciously. ‘I only started working here a couple of days ago, the news hasn’t had time to circulate around all the village busy-bodies yet.’

‘I actually went to your house,’ Arthur explained, shrugging. ‘I didn’t know where else to go. So I went there, hoping you were home.’ He gave Merlin an almost reproachful look. ‘You move on fast.’

‘Yes, well,’ Merlin said, slightly embarrassed. ‘It was a matter of timing, I suppose. I came back just when a shop-boy was needed, so it all worked out.’ Then he frowned. ‘Hold on. You went back to my house – the house where my father is?’ he suddenly sounded horrified, and his eyes quickly skittered over Arthur to make sure that he wasn’t somehow injured in some way that he hadn’t noticed before. 

‘Yeah,’ Arthur laughed and ran a shaky hand through his hair. ‘I saw him, too. Scary man, your dad. He’d give mine a run for his money.’

‘Wait.’ Merlin’s head was spinning. ‘You saw my dad and he didn’t punch you one?’

Arthur laughed.

‘Yeah, I’m rather surprised about that myself,’ he said ruefully. ‘I steeled my jaw and everything. I was almost disappointed when he didn’t take a shot at me.’

‘Prat,’ Merlin muttered, causing Arthur to smile almost against his will. For a moment it almost seemed that everything was just as usual, that none of that nonsense back in New York had taken place. But then Merlin continued. ‘So what did he say then, when he saw you?’

Arthur grimaced and looked around warily.

‘Maybe we should go somewhere else?’ he suggested.

Merlin shook his head though.

‘Nah,’ he said. ‘It’s safer in here. It’s Tuesday lunchtime – no one comes in here now. Not that much has changed since I was last here. Geoffrey the manager’s also gone home for his lunch so it’s just me here. If we go outside then people will be peeking out of the windows, wondering who that strange blonde city boy talking to me is. We’ll be the subject of all the village gossip for days, then.’

‘Right,’ Arthur said awkwardly. ‘Well. Anyway. I guess you could say that he gave me a piece of his mind. No more than I deserved, of course,’ he added hurriedly.

‘No, hold on,’ Merlin was shaking his head. ‘It’s not fair of him to go on about your dad and his mistakes, even if you are his son. That’s not fair to you at all.’

‘Oh I agree,’ Arthur said brightly. ‘But that’s not what he was talking about.’ Merlin’s head jerked up. ‘He was telling me off for being a colossal idiot and for treating his son so terribly. Which, for the record, I also agree with.’

Merlin’s mouth was opening and closing soundlessly.

‘But I didn’t tell him!’ he said in a rush. ‘I didn’t say anything about what happened back in New York – I promise!’

Arthur crooked a smile at that.

‘I know you didn’t,’ he said soothingly. ‘Your dad said as much. But he also said that even a man as ignorant about feelings as he was could tell that you weren’t okay with how things had ended, and that something had happened to hurt you badly.’ Arthur ducked his head at that. ‘And I must say that – hard as it is for me to admit – it is my fault. I was an ass that last day Merlin, I really was. I – I shouldn’t have allowed my feelings to get in the way of our friendship in such a way. I’m so, so sorry. And – though I would understand it if you preferred otherwise – I would very much like it if we were to be friends again.’

‘Oh.’ For a moment Merlin didn’t know how to react. ‘Yes. Of course. Of course I want to be friends.’

Arthur beamed.

‘Shake hands?’ he asked formally, and Merlin found himself holding out his hand to Arthur as if in a dream.

Arthur sighed happily when they both dropped hands.

‘You don’t know how mush of a relief that is,’ he said, smiling. His previous earnestness and contrition were slowly fading to the background as he once more began to resume being his usual prattish self. ‘I’d hoped that you wouldn’t be an idiot about things!’

‘Yeah …’ Merlin frowned and shook his head. ‘But wait,’ he said, breathing heavily and causing Arthur to pause, concerned. ‘Wait a minute. I want to be friends, Arthur, but before I can – there’s something I really have to do first, something I really need to get off my chest.’ He stared at Arthur, wanting for him to take this as seriously as he did.

Arthur stared back, apparently nonplussed.

‘Okay,’ he said, holding his hands up. ‘Of course you can. Go ahead.’ His voice was reassuring but there was the tiniest hint of fear in his eyes, as if afraid that Merlin might renege on their previous friendly handshake.

‘Right,’ Merlin took a deep breath and looked around. Reassured that there was still no one else there, he continued. ‘I know that you probably don’t want to ever talk about this again, but allow me to speak for one last time and then I will shut up about it forever, okay?’ At Arthur’s bemused nod he carried on. ‘It’s just that – you were such an awful bastard to me that day. You were – you were so unkind. There I was, just laying my heart out like that, and you tell me to leave.’

Arthur had the grace to look ashamed.

‘Yes, well,’ he said unhappily. ‘I know it was wrong. It’s just – well it wasn’t exactly easy for me to hear, was it?’

‘No, I suppose not,’ Merlin sighed, rubbing his face tiredly. ‘I – I suppose I should have done it at a better time. But – it needed to be said, Arthur. I needed to say it. And I’d genuinely thought – I really had – that you … that you would …’ His mouth shut as if he couldn’t bring himself to say more. 

‘I know,’ Arthur said, feeling wretched. ‘I’m a terrible friend. I really am. It’s just that I’ve never been in that position before, you know. I just – like I said, I was an ass. I acted the way my father probably would have.’

Merlin didn’t disagree.

‘What I did was wrong,’ Arthur said earnestly. ‘I knew it now and I knew it then. I was just too – too hurt to really care much at the time.’

‘Hurt!’ Merlin exclaimed, his head shooting up. ‘ _Hurt?_ I’m sorry, but I thought that _I_ was the one that was hurt there!’

‘I’m not discounting the way I made you feel,’ Arthur said hurriedly. ‘I’m simply trying to explain the way that I felt – that I _feel_.’ He sighed. ‘Why is this so hard?’ he muttered under his breath.

‘What, apologising?’ Merlin said rudely.

‘I apologised!’ Arthur protested. ‘I’m sorry! There!’

Merlin gave a loud sniff.

‘Prat,’ he muttered under his breath, and Arthur couldn’t help but laugh.

‘I’ve missed you, Merlin,’ he said, suddenly wistful. ‘I’ve missed this. I really have.’

Merlin didn’t say anything but from the look on his face it was clear that he felt the same.

‘I know it’s probably hard for you to believe,’ Arthur said quietly, not quite meeting Merlin’s eyes. ‘But I don’t make friends easily.’

Merlin scoffed.

‘Yes, yes,’ Arthur rolled his eyes. ‘Very droll. But the thing is – you’re my friend, Merlin and that come first and foremost, above everything. Everything,’ he repeated, staring deep into Merlin’s eyes. ‘And if that means that we never speak of this again, then that’s okay – I can bear it.’

‘Okay …’ Merlin said slowly, but Arthur continued.

‘And if – if you really meant what you said before,’ Arthur continued hesitantly, a brave, determined look on his face. ‘About you – you and Elena – then I will do my utmost to ensure that-’

‘Hang on,’ Merlin suddenly interrupted, frowning. ‘What’s all that about me and Elena?’

Arthur blinked.

‘Why, that you’re in love with her, of course!’ he said, sounding surprised.

Merlin’s jaw dropped.

‘ _What?_ ’ he all but shouted, causing Arthur to wince and take a step back in surprise. ‘What did you say?’

Arthur was feeling distinctly unnerved.

‘That you and Elena – you’re in love,’ he said, confused.

Merlin’s eyes seemed to bulge out of their sockets.

‘You – you – Where on earth did you get that idiotic idea from?’ he sputtered, waving his arms wildly.

‘From you, you idiot!’ Arthur shouted back, feeling very put-upon. ‘What, do you suddenly not remember? It’s only what we’ve been talking about for the past half-hour!’

‘But I – I never said that I was in love with Elena!’ Merlin protested, outraged.

‘Yes you did!’ Arthur argued. ‘I was there, Merlin, I know what was said!’

‘And I know what _I_ said!’ Merlin shouted. ‘And it was definitely _not_ that I was in love with Elena!’

‘Then what was it?’ Arthur demanded.

‘You idiot, I was telling you that I was in love with you!’ Merlin snapped, only to be met with sudden silence. He looked over at Arthur, only to see a wild, stricken look upon his face. ‘Arthur?’ Merlin asked in a small voice, suddenly feeling stripped down and bare all over again. ‘Arthur are you all right?’

‘You-’ Arthur choked out. ‘You’re in love with _me_?’

‘Of course,’ Merlin replied, looking down at his feet. ‘I said so, didn’t I? Twice, now.’

‘So then,’ Arthur struggled. ‘So that, in New York – that was you telling me that you-’ He stopped, as if unable to complete that sentence.

‘For the last time, _yes_!’ Merlin said, feeling suddenly desperate.

‘So you aren’t in love with Elena …’ Arthur said, his head feeling strangely light.

‘No!’

‘And you – you’re – you’re in love with me?’ Arthur managed to say.

‘Yes!’ Merlin said, wringing his hands in agitation.

‘But that’s brilliant!’ Arthur said, his face suddenly splitting into a brilliant smile.

Merlin faltered.

‘It is?’ he asked in a small voice, looking suspiciously up at Arthur. 

Arthur’s smile gentled.

‘Yes, you idiot,’ he said fondly. ‘Because I’m in love with you, too.’

And with that he leaned forward and, before Merlin could so much as react, he pressed his lips to Merlin’s and he kissed him.

  


*****  


‘I can’t believe it,’ Merlin was saying a little while later, a dazed smile on his face. Geoffrey the store owner had returned soon after and Merlin had quickly taken his break. ‘So all this time – it was all a huge misunderstanding? Because you thought that I was in love with Elena and you couldn’t handle it?’

Arthur muttered something that could perhaps be considered a confirmation before burying his head in Merlin’s shoulder.

‘And I thought you were being a callous bastard who couldn’t take it when things got real and who’d had enough of me,’ Merlin marvelled, shaking his head. 

‘Never!’ Arthur said, lifting his head from Merlin’s shoulder. ‘The callous bastard part, maybe, but not the me growing tired of you bit. Never that.’

Merlin smiled.

‘Good,’ he said, gently elbowing Arthur in the stomach. ‘Or otherwise you’d have my da to answer to.’

Arthur shuddered in a way that mostly – but not entirely – pretence, before returning Merlin’s smile.

‘So,’ he said, leaning closer, his lips tickling Merlin’s ear. ‘When are you returning to London?’ 

Merlin’s smile abruptly fell off his face.

‘Oh,’ he said guardedly. ‘I don’t know. I – I didn’t know if you would want me back.’

The look on Arthur’s face clearly showed that he thought Merlin mad for even supposing that.

‘Of course I want you back!’ he said, exasperated. ‘Gaius wants you back! We all want you back!’

‘But what about Lady Morgause?’ Merlin asked anxiously. ‘What about _Camelot_? I don’t think that they would want me over there, messing things up more than I already have.’

‘Oh right,’ Arthur said, blinking. ‘I didn’t tell you.’

‘Tell me what?’ Merlin asked immediately, suspicious.

‘Well, after you left things rather fell apart,’ Arthur explained, tracing the curve of Merlin’s right shoulder with his eyes. ‘And somehow it ended up with me yelling at Morgause, telling her that she was irrelevant, and a has-been and all sorts of other things. Yeah,’ he added, when he saw the amused horror on Merlin’s face. ‘She didn’t exactly take it well. She telephoned home immediately and we were yanked out of New York two days later.’

‘I’m so sorry!’ Merlin said, trying to go for earnest sympathy but being betrayed by the corner of his mouth which kept twitching up in a smile. ‘No – really, I am sorry, it’s just – the idea of you yelling at Morgause! I would have given anything to have seen that!’

Arthur gave him a crooked grin at that and shrugged.

‘She was getting on my nerves,’ he said casually. ‘But that’s not the end of the story.’

At Merlin’s curious tilting of the head, Arthur continued.

‘Well like I said, we were yanked straight out of New York and all but frog-marched to the _Camelot_ offices,’ Arthur recalled. ‘It was me, Elena and Morgause, of course – we had to say goodbye to Lance in Manhattan. Gwen, too, you’ll be pleased to hear. Anyway, we were hauled down to the boardroom where my father was sitting like an angry boar with my witch of a sister-’

Merlin’s lips quirked up.

‘And then Morgause starts going on and on about how terrible we all were and how she had a devil of a time keeping us in line and how I deliberately went against all her orders and that she refuses to take any responsibility for the monstrous – yes, she really said monstrous, which I thought was exaggerating quite a bit – results of the whole project, and other such things. And all the time, my father just sat there, his eyes boring into my skull, listening to everything that harpy was braying,’

‘And then what happened?’ Merlin asked eagerly.

‘Then, when Morgause had finally stopped, he just looked at me and asked if it was true.’

‘And?’ Merlin asked curiously.

Arthur smirked.

‘I said that he had better determine that for himself. And I gave him-’

‘The photographs!’ Merlin finished for him, brightening. ‘You gave him your prints!’

‘Yes, I did,’ Arthur said, smiling.

‘And he liked them?’ Merlin asked eagerly.

Arthur made a face.

‘Well – not all of them,’ he sighed. ‘And there was one that I took of Elena near a bunch of garbage cans that he really hated. But then-’ And here Arthur paused and turned to look at Merlin. ‘But then he came to a picture with you in it.’

Merlin’s throat went dry.

‘You – you showed that to him?’ he croaked, suddenly terribly embarrassed.

‘You bet I did!’ Arthur said, tossing his head. ‘Those pictures of you and Ellie were some of my best work. I should jolly well hope that I showed them to him!’ 

‘And?’ Merlin demanded.

‘And-’ Arthur shrugged, ‘he liked them.’

Merlin blinked.

‘Well,’ Arthur amended. ‘It was more Morgana than anything else – my sister, see? – but he managed to see something too. “Striking”, I think he called you. I won’t say what my sister said, that witch, but suffice to say that you were something of a hit. “A fresh, original look” was what they said – you should have seen Morgause’s face! – and then something about how having a male figure – particularly one with your looks – in there offset the obvious femininity of Elena and of this season’s clothes, and that the both of you combined showed us a whole brave new world which is what the whole project in Manhattan was really all about.’

‘So what does this mean?’ Merlin asked, his heart beating double-time in his chest.

Arthur turned to look at him.

‘What it means, Merlin,’ Arthur said, a slow smile spreading over his lips. ‘Is that you need to quit your job and follow me.’ He paused and his eyes glinted. ‘We’re going back to London.’

And Merlin, looking back at the face that was promising him the world, smiled back at him, and nodded.

  


**THE END.**  



End file.
